Alicarde felt the familiar rush of vertigo as he struggled to stabilize himself mid-air. Shaking his head, he muttered,
"Damn it… still not ready for flight."
Countless attempts had gone into mastering this ability, but each had ended with him hurtling back to the ground. All the motivational nonsense Argint fed him—about desperation forcing one to succeed—felt hollow now. He was being hunted by a coven of furious witches, and he still couldn't fly.
With Marian clutched tightly in his arms, her blindfold still in place, Alicarde leapt from tree to tree, his movements swift and silent as a shadow slicing through the moonlit forest. Behind him, he could feel the witches gaining ground, relentless and vengeful.
A hum filled the air, forewarning of an imminent attack. Alicarde's eyes widened as he saw a massive burst of magical energy tear through the forest, annihilating trees and igniting the surroundings in towering pillars of fire.
