At the top of a towering tree, Kaelen had his gaze fixated on the cracked sky above and the four beacons in the distance. Each one of it tugged his senses, making some part of him drawn to their power, there is no denying that their presence was definitely compelling. But for now—lets assessed his situation first.
Kaelen looked down at himself, his black armor was glinting faintly in the filtered light. The dark plates, though bruised and scratched from his battles in the conduit, were still solid. His black robe, torn at the hem, fluttered in the gentle breeze that whispered through the treetops.
'Well, this'll hold for now'
And then he looked down at the sheathed sword, a gift from Serephira, hung at his side, still as sharp and unyielding as ever.
But his satchel...
'Shit...'
