Vador beat his wings as the icy wind blew violently, chasing away the last light of dusk that disappeared behind the mountains. The sky was illuminated with a vibrant orange, casting an otherworldly glow on the snow covering the peaks.
That light, so fleeting, reflected on Vador's fatigue-marked face, almost blinding him for a moment. He squinted and let out a deep sigh before turning to his companions.
"Let's head back. I think they've really retreated this time," he said in a hoarse, almost incredulous voice.
Accompanied by members of the Xarus clan, Vador soared through the sky in a gliding flight, his large dark wings spread wide against the wind.
He let himself be carried by the cold air currents descending from the mountains, heading towards Freiden, where they were to report what they had seen. This luxury—flying freely without fear—was something he could only appreciate because the danger seemed, for now, to have passed.
