Damien said nothing.
But he understood.
He'd seen that awe before—in young soldiers, new scouts, even nobles shipped off to warzones for the first time. The stunned disbelief at how big the world really was.
Skylar glided lower now, approaching familiar terrain.
Ahead, nestled against the cliffs, the outline of Westmont came into view—high walls of dark stone, sloped rooftops, guard towers trimmed in black iron.
Home.
Skylar landed a few hundred meters out, wings folding as his clawed feet hit solid ground. The grass swayed gently from the gusts of his descent.
Damien climbed off first.
"We walk from here."
"Why?" Lyone asked as he slid down behind him.
"Skylar makes people nervous."
Lyone glanced at the wyvern—who was already stretching its wings like a bored cat and lowering itself to the earth.
"…Fair."
They began the final walk toward the gate, boots crunching against the gravel path. Westmont rose ahead of them, quiet and steady.
