The tent flap parted, and Asher stepped out, his gaze lifted to the dark sky. Around him, soldiers moved swiftly, assembling into formation. Horns sounded. The air was electric with anticipation.
His boots sank slightly into the dirt as he advanced toward the center of camp—when, suddenly, the sky split.
Three wyverns.
They tore across the sky like arrows let loose, their wings stirring a violent wind. In a breath, they had passed over the camp. Tents rippled and collapsed, soldiers staggered or fell outright as dust exploded into the air.
Then—stillness.
Asher exhaled, a quiet breath of relief slipping from his lips. His shoulders eased.
He turned and strode back into the command tent.
Sapphira stood exactly where he had left her.
"I told you to leave," he said.
She didn't flinch. "I would have, had there truly been a threat. But there wasn't. And you need someone to talk to."
Her fingers tapped lightly on the chair, an invitation.
Asher sat once more, reclining.
