The sky darkened into an endless sheet of violet, and the land below turned to shadows and jagged spires.
Thae'Zirak flew with ease, each wingbeat strong and graceful. For hours they had soared, the dragon hybrid showing no signs of fatigue, but the air had begun to shift.
Subtle at first—
Then undeniable.
The wind was changing.
Argolaith felt it like a warning crawling up his spine. The seed of memory inside his cloak pulsed slowly, its rhythm becoming erratic, as if sensing something wrong.
Malakar turned his head, the violet flame in his skull flickering. "The air ahead is… not natural."
Kaelred tightened his grip around Thae'Zirak's plated back. "I don't like the sound of that."
Thae'Zirak narrowed his golden eyes. "Something is interfering."
As they climbed higher, the wind began to scream.
Not howl.
Not whistle.
Scream.
