A deep, rumbling chuckle came from the shadows behind them. The Lacertian Master stepped forward — tall, sinewy, his scales a deep bronze that caught the faint glow of the moon. His eyes were narrow slits, yellow and sharp, gleaming with an eclipse-shaped iris that pulsed faintly as he spoke.
"Good," he hissed, his voice curling like smoke. "If we discover their den, we shall feast upon the Wendlock dwellers. Their flesh is said to be steeped in pure spirit energy—rich, potent."
He raised his clawed hand, letting the moonlight glint along its edge. "With their essence, we will evolve. Our forms will transcend this fragile shell and become something greater… something vast—like a mountain given breath."
The flock hissed in unison, their eyes glimmering with hunger and devotion. The air grew heavy with their excitement, rippling faintly where their presence pressed against the unseen barrier.
