They flew in silence.
Toward something familiar. Toward something buried.
Toward a place where Argolaith's story had begun—
And where something else waited to begin again.
The sky was dull above, smeared with the ashen tones of perpetual overcast, while the ground below passed in a quiet, unchanging rhythm—plateaus of wind-scoured stone and fields of brittle frost broken by jagged rock.
The sound of wings filled the air, steady and powerful, as Thae'Zirak flew onward, carving a path through the cold.
Time passed slowly. The days stretched long, the scenery bleak and unwelcoming.
No tree called.
No message whispered in Argolaith's mind.
They flew in silence.
Argolaith kept to himself. Blue eyes forward, unmoving. He didn't speak of Seminah, didn't offer stories or memories.
Whatever the thought that had stirred him to return home, he kept it buried—protected, as if even naming it would unravel something he wasn't ready to face.
