Zaira raced south across the pine-covered hills of Tagayia, her massive armored scales cutting through the morning fog. The trees swayed as her huge body passed between them.
Standing on her broad neck, Sagiri remained perfectly balanced as his black cloak fluttered in the cold wind.
The storms of relic energy inside his spiritual channels were gone. In their place was the calm, deadly power of the Silver-Veined Void Blade.
His eyes watched the distant horizon. Far ahead, thick clouds of dust rose from the crossroads where the Great Highway met the northern valley.
Through his sharp senses, he could feel the steady movements of forty thousand southern warriors marching in formation.
But another presence caught his attention.
An unnatural energy hung in the air. It was the rotten aura of Glacial Lanka's advance troops.
