The forest broke open near the edge of the ravine.
Old trees leaned like drunk sentries, roots torn by frost and time. Stone outcroppings jutted up between frost-bitten shrubs, and the trail narrowed to a strip no wider than a cart axle.
Lindarion dropped low behind a half-collapsed boulder and raised one fist. The group behind him halted instantly, Lira to the right, Sylric just behind, Luneth already ghosting between shadows without a word.
He scanned the ridge above.
No signal flares. No movement.
Nothing.
"This is where Velna's team was supposed to check in," he said quietly.
No one replied.
Because they knew what that meant.
He reached out.
Mentally.
Ashwing.
A hum answered, not words, not thoughts. Just presence. The burn of coiled fire and compressed air in his blood.
Now.
A low roar echoed above the clouds seconds later.
