It was time.
Aiden felt it in the marrow of his bones, in the faint electric tremor beneath his skin, in the way the night sky seemed to pulse around him as though the world itself recognized the shift.
Too many unexpected events were unfolding too quickly. Threads he had intended to pull gently were now twisting, tangling, accelerating. The plot—his plot—was turning faster than he could track, yet not fast enough for what he needed.
He needed to push harder. Push through. Use everything he had.
Even the things he wished he didn't.
The moon hung high and sharp above them, a thin silver blade cutting through the clouds. The air was cold and brittle, biting with the scent of frost and distant static.
Catherine flew holding Aiden, her draconic armor glinting faint gold under the moonlight, her wings leaving trails of shimmering mana that bled into the darkness like strokes of light on black canvas.
