Raithar stood atop the jagged mountain peak, his massive midnight-blue wings stretched wide behind him, catching the chill of the high-altitude winds. His wings shimmered subtly, veins of silver flickering beneath the surface like starlight trapped in flesh.
Xandor stood just behind him, silent, his long hair whipping in the wind, his cloak flapping at his sides like a second pair of wings. His sharp eyes were fixed not on the horizon, but on his master's face—serene, expressionless, unnervingly still.
Then Raithar's eyes opened—two pools of dark silver glowing with quiet power—and in that exact breath, the heavens groaned.
A sharp, echoing crack tore through the night.
Both men looked up.
