On the other side of the stone gate, the sudden shift in the wind had already reached Sol's senses.
Standing on the parched gravel flats of the barren wasteland, his molten Golden Silver pool had given a massive, violent thrum that felt entirely different from the clumsy vibration of the Coalition's scattered rats until now.
It was a dense, noble, and suffocating spiritual pressure that seemed to slow the very air currents passing through the gorge.
Sol didn't waste a micro-second.
He turned his body away from the empty northern horizon, his heavy boots crushing the white limestone dust as he crossed back through the narrow, five-man-wide neck of the mountain pass.
He emerged into the boundary clearing just as Veylara and the elders reached the floor of the valley and heard their murmuring.
