They mounted their Khaori Bierds—riding them was no easy task.
Understandably so.
These beasts could run at speeds that tore through wind like thunder. Riding them felt less like horseback and more like trying to stay aboard a crashing comet. But despite the chaos, Azriel and Leirza held their own.
Leirza estimated the travel time to Chronisca would now be cut in half—maybe more.
Good. They couldn't afford to waste time.
As the sun dipped into the earth and the stars scattered above, the birds began to tire. Eventually, the two arrived at a small town nestled between rocky ridges—surprisingly untouched by the "Marching of Death" incident.
Although the incident's name had begun to spread in hushed tones, its documentation remained forbidden. Even still, fear couldn't fully silence the people anymore.
Voices stirred, even if only whispers.
This town—unlike many—had become a refuge. Unity, in a divided world? Odd, yes. But comforting.
