The convoy finally crossed the last ridge that separated the Russian heartlands from the Wind Clan's dominion.
It was late. The night sky had fallen into a blanket of stars—clearer than anywhere else in Europe—and the twin moons cast a pale glow on the rugged, ancient terrain that stretched out before them.
As Lauren and her entourage approached their destination, even the tired silence in the car was replaced with stunned awe.
Before them, nestled in the cradle of distant mountain peaks and surrounded by whispering forests, stood the stronghold of the Wind Clan.
It was no city—at least, not in the traditional sense. It lacked the buzz of economic activity, the flash of merchant lights, or the modern density of tech-run hubs. But what it had... was presence.
The entire region was built with an artistry that belonged to the sky itself.
