Ethan narrowed his eyes, locking onto the flickering pulse of energy in the distance.
"There," he murmured to Feylora, his voice low and tightly controlled.
In the next instant, both of them vanished, streaking across the shattered ridgeline like twin shadows.
Seconds later, they reappeared in a scorched clearing, the ground blackened and cracked, the air thick with the acrid stench of burnt metal and ozone.
At the center of the devastation crouched the pangolin beast, limbs braced against the ground, its massive chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. With each inhale, it seemed to suck the very essence from the air—drawing in the ambient mana like a black hole devouring light.
Its body looked like a fortress carved from stone, runes etched deep into its armored hide, glowing faintly with unstable energy.
But Ethan's eyes weren't on the runes.
He was watching the subtle, off-rhythm pulse of energy deep within its chest—right where the heart should be.
