Raiden recognized something familiar in the darkness that consumed his vision. Words were unnecessary—they shared an understanding that transcended speech. The shadows bent to his will before he even formed the thought to command them.
Every step melted into the shadows instead of meeting the earth, the darkness catching and propelling him forward. Through his headache, he smiled—his body felt weightless, moving twice as fast as his mana usually allowed, each stride utterly silent.
Yet his supernatural pace proved futile. Hours passed as he combed through the desolate landscape, the storm clouds perpetually crackling with lightning, the moon suspended in the exact same position as when he'd first arrived. Nothing else lived in this place; only he, Ash, and the Lost Child.
He paused across multiple expanses of barren terrain, eyes sweeping every angle of the desolate landscape as he systematically covered all directions. Still, fortune eluded him.
