His mantle fluttering in the high winds, Asher hovered silently above the fortress, golden eyes gleaming like twin suns behind the helm. Below, chaos reigned. Screams echoed through the ruined walls. Fires crackled. Stone crumbled.
Yet his gaze didn't wander. It was fixed, unwavering, piercing the layers of stone and smoke to lock on one man: the Count.
Though the buildings obscured much, Asher's vision transcended walls. A gift born from power far beyond mortal, something Zenas had, the special truth about Ashbourne's golden eyes. He could see the Count slipping into an underground passage like a rat scurrying from flame.
Icy mist hissed from his right palm, swirling rapidly until it formed a gleaming javelin. One throw, one effortless motion, and this would end.
But just as he tensed his arm, the Count vanished in a flash of soft, unnatural light. He'd escaped through a teleportation channel hidden in the hall.
