Then they felt a pressure.
Coming from above.
Slowly, the four leaders raised their heads.
And froze.
Kyrian hovered dozens of meters above the ground.
In the sky.
His spine glowed through his torn clothes so intensely that every individual vertebra could be seen through the charred fabric.
Veins of orange light ran across his body like rivers of magma, flowing down his arms, climbing his neck, and spreading across his chest.
But the most impressive thing...
We're the wings.
Two gigantic wings made entirely of fire and Qi.
They were not bird wings, nor bat wings, nor dragon wings.
They were something new.
Beautiful. Majestic. Terrifying.
Each feather seemed composed of liquid magma, bright, pulsing, and alive.
Every movement of the wings made the air vibrate, creating visible ripples in the atmosphere.
It was not Kyrian's Qi that sustained those wings.
It was the Qi of the environment.
The volcano itself sustained those wings.
The wings beat once. Only once.
