They were not alone. They did not fly by their own winds. They flew, on their wings of grandness, by a wind breathed by their General. And he, in turn, flew upon that mighty wind that had begun to stir even before his birth. That wind that had brought about a tempest on the very night that he was born. That wind which had robbed Persephone of life, and robbed Dominus of his intended goal of revenge. That wind that had seen the entire Emerson army dismantled before it.
With a stretching of mighty wings, and the roaring of gathering fire in his throat, General Patrick took to the sky, with more certainty than he had ever felt. With that feeling of elation that he had feared, and mistrusted, and even despised, for how it towered over the suffering that he had once known.
