Colossal Zaira surged south across the pine-covered foothills of Tagayia, her massive armored scales slicing through the morning fog like a dark warship.
Atop her broad neck, Sagiri stood in total, effortless balance, his black cloak billowing in the cold northern wind.
Inside his spiritual channels, the chaotic storms of relic energy were completely gone, replaced by the calm, deadly precision of the Silver-Veined Void Blade.
His dual-colored eyes scanned the distant horizon miles ahead, tracking the thick dust clouds rising from the central crossroads where the Great Highway met the northern valley.
Through his heightened senses, he could feel the distinct, rhythmic vibrations of forty thousand southern warriors marching in tight, synchronized formation.
He could also sense a foul, freezing disturbance lying in wait near the crossroads—the unnatural, necrotic aura of Glacial Lanka's forward shock troops.
