The capital city of Velmira rose like a mirage from the mist—its spires piercing the sky, its walls etched with runes older than memory. Rosalinda stood at the edge of the valley, cloaked in a borrowed hood, her heart thudding like a war drum.

Azrakar walked beside her, silent as ever, his presence a shadow that never left. Though his wings remained hidden, the air around him shimmered faintly, like heat rising from stone.

They had traveled for days, avoiding roads, slipping through forests ...