The winds over Morgoth howled against Argolaith's cloak as he soared just above the treetops.
His first destination was still a few days away on foot—a jagged crater of celestial metal long buried in legend.
But before he could even reach the mountain's edge, he felt it.
A shift in the air.
Pressure.
The kind that made skin crawl.
In the distance, something massive moved through the forest.
Then, from below, a roar—followed by half a dozen more.
He stopped in the air, hovering.
Leaves rustled wildly.
From the dense canopy below, a whole pack of Saint Beasts burst into the clearing—twelve of them in total, fully grown and fanged with crackling auras.
Their eyes locked onto him instantly.
Without hesitation, Argolaith raised a hand.
A translucent cube shimmered into existence beside him, swirling faintly with internal energy.
The moment the beasts unleashed their magic, it struck the cube like water into sponge.
