The sun had barely crested the horizon, spilling golden light across the dense canopy of Greenwood Forest. Mist curled between the trees, lingering like a delicate shroud over the undergrowth.
John perched atop a rocky outcrop near a narrow river, wings folded, tail swaying lazily. The forest was calm—or at least deceptively so. He could feel it: threads of mana humming faintly in the air, weaving patterns like a hidden map of energy beneath the visible world.
He exhaled slowly, letting the rising warmth of the morning sun wash over his black scales. Golden eyes, as sharp as ever, scanned the treetops.
"…Still far."
His voice, low and thoughtful, barely carried over the gentle rustle of leaves.
Marcus approached cautiously from behind, his boots silent on the moss-covered rocks. "Still far from what?"
John didn't look at him. "Tier 10."
Marcus frowned. "Tier 10? I thought you already—"
