---
As the last support brace clicked into place beneath the sled and Skyweaver's wing sensors settled into passive watch, Kai stepped away from the fireless camp and looked out toward the basin.
The Lightning cracked silently overhead, tracing jagged scars through the storm sky. Down below, the rift spiraled like a whirlpool of silver mist and ghostfire.
He was about to head back to the campfire when a flutter of shadows fell across his shoulders. No wingbeat. No scent. But instinct whispered the arrival.
"Shadeclaw," Kai said without turning.
From the gloom beside a twisted stone fang, the scout emerged. His long body moved like smoke over rock, mandibles clicking once in respect. Deep scratches marked his left flank, dried black ichor flaking off where it had already begun to crust.
