Ashwing's voice turned dry. "What now? You gonna punch the sky?"
Lindarion raised a hand.
"No," he said. "I'm going to tear it."
The glow in his palm was subtle, like pulling on invisible threads. His divine affinity sparked faintly at his fingertips, just enough to crack whatever illusion stretched below them.
Ashwing hovered, wings beating low and slow to hold them steady.
The sky didn't tear.
But the air rippled, like a curtain caught in wind, and just for a second, something massive shimmered into view far below.
Stone towers.
Black walls.
Fortress gates. Half-submerged.
Then it vanished again.
"Found it," Lindarion said.
Ashwing didn't reply right away.
Then: "You sure you want to go alone?"
Lindarion nodded. "I have to. We don't know what's inside."
Ashwing began to descend, slow, deliberate. Wind curled through his wings.
Beneath them, the illusion twisted like smoke around glass.
Somewhere below… the real fortress waited.
And inside it, so did the monsters.
