The wind sliced through the skies.
Arcon advanced through the clouds like a black arrow, his enormous wings beating at steady intervals, producing a hypnotic rhythm that accompanied the passage of time.
Kilometers of land passed beneath them, forests, mountains, rivers, and valleys, all reduced to blurred stains by their speed.
Since Kyrian had left Red Smoke City, sixteen days had passed.
Sixteen days of travel. Sixteen days of flight.
Even for a powerful spiritual mount like Arcon, a beast of rare bloodline whose wings could sustain flight for days without rest, it was a long journey.
During that period, Kyrian did not set foot in a single city.
There was no need to waste time in small cities. His objective lay beyond them, far beyond. Stopping at every village, every fortress, and every cultivator settlement would only delay his journey.
The Northern Region was gigantic. Much larger than he had imagined.
