A few days earlier…
Serif's eye traced a blue streak rushing through the purple mist above, one among many blue streaks running it.
The mist which was considered a terrible destroyer, the one thing the council feared even though they tried to hide it, and they did a good job, successfully deceiving most wielders, but for people like him they couldn't hide it.
He wondered if those blue streaks were creatures, perhaps aberrants so powerful, even one would absolutely decimate the world of wielders, or something else, a single being.
"Sir," a voice came from behind him, drawing him out of his thoughts.
The owner, a man with a bow strapped to his back, dressed in a black close fitted armour shirt with diagonal straps leading to the quiver, stood still, looking away as their eyes met.
"Sir Veymir is calling…" he said, voice low, head bowed and he quickly left.
