Kyrian emerged from the stone gate with the speed of lightning.
His feet barely touched the ground of the rocky platform before his purple eyes were already sweeping the horizon in search of the fleeing young man.
Night had fully fallen over the mountain range, and the moon had not yet risen. Only the stars dotted the dark sky like distant sparks.
But Kyrian did not need light to see.
His eyes, now transformed by the activation of lightning Qi, pierced the darkness as if it were day. Every shadow was sharp, every outline clear. And there, descending the rocky slope in a desperate run, was the young man in the white robe.
He ran as if death itself were at his heels.
Because it was.
Kyrian spotted the young man's destination, a flying beast stationed on a rock further below, its wings already open, ready to take off. It was a silver-feathered eagle, large enough to carry two people, with eyes that shone in the dark like torches.
