The arcane carriage trembled violently as they were besieged by the enemy's relentless pursuit, its ethereal defenses struggling to hold under the barrage of powerful spells. Draven remained still, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping across the scene unfolding around them. His sharp eyes took in every detail, processing everything with a speed and precision that few could comprehend.
"Zephyrion, giant monster birds of the Northern mountains," he muttered, his tone measured, almost indifferent. His gaze moved again, picking out details in the chaos outside. "Air resistance cloaks, manufactured magic-firing staffs. Elite forces, no doubt."
