Alistair observed a streaming gale, the whites that swam down the secluded routes.
It was cold, like his heart—unfeeling.
'What had he done?'
He sighed. "Any moment."
Alistair waited and lingered, and soon paced. His heart was shaken; each finger trembled and shivered. His breath, like cement, crammed his lungs.
It was soon, surely.
His ears twitched. An ache spread, a cramp like a knife stabbed into his cornea and twisted before shredding the organ.
"Bait hooked." He donned a cat mask. 'I hope my next plans go as smoothly.'
His sword escaped the scabbard.
"Line!"
A beam arose... a pillar had pierced the sky and loomed at far borders, and further.
And there were no more clouds.
"Don't die, Taybi."
