Erend rose swiftly into the sky, his ember-veined wings slicing through the clouds, casting a shadow of molten black across the canopy below.
The air was still thick with lingering smoke from his earlier battle combined with the thick mist. But it didn't slow him. His crimson eyes burned with intent, scanning the forest for Eccar's signature.
But before he could even reach full height, he caught sight of a sudden crash back to the ground. Eccar was already plunging into another fight.
Erend narrowed his eyes. "He didn't even stop to talk. That means it's bad."
And when he looked — really looked — through the sharpened clarity of his Dragon eyes, the full scale of the problem hit him like a falling mountain.
Rifts. Dozens of them. Maybe even hundreds.
