The first stretch of the journey was deceptively easy.
The Snowveil Mountains loomed in the distance like jagged teeth tearing out of the earth, veiled in white mist and sharpened by secrets. But the land leading up to them—flat, still, and unsettlingly silent—offered no resistance. No familiar bite of the wind, no monsters lurking around corners. Just emptiness.
The farther the group travelled, the more that silence took on an eerie edge.
But despite the lack of danger, their pace was painfully slow—far slower than it had been when it was just the four of them, and a crawl compared to how fast Vale could've flown on Dragon's back. With this many people, every narrow path became a bottleneck, and every bend in the terrain was a delay.
Vale tilted his head to the sky, thoughts drifting to the freedom of flight. Riding Dragon would cut the journey in half, maybe more. He was lost in thought when Ayla's voice snapped him back to the present.
