(Next Day – The Felyndor Wilds)
The air in the Wilds was thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient moss. Kael, Rhaegor, Elena, and I stood at the forest boundary, where three Felyr scouts were already waiting. The moment they spotted us—or rather, spotted the man beside me—they dropped into a swift, disciplined bow.
"Skyfire Tyrant," they murmured in unison.
Rhaegor didn't even take the pipe out of his mouth. He just gave a lazy wave of his hand, dismissively signaling them to rise. They fell in line, leading us deep into the heart of the tribe's territory.
As we moved through the village, the bustling activity of the Felyr came to a grinding halt. Every hunter, weaver, and child stopped what they were doing, their cat-like eyes locked onto Rhaegor. They bowed low, a wave of silent reverence following us as we approached the central wooden hut.
