Sol walked out of the dim forge and back into the humid, tension-thick air of the Veynar settlement. He didn't immediately head for his quarters. He turned to Kira, his silver-crimson eyes burning with a dangerous, untested fire.
"I need to know what this gear can actually take," Sol stated, adjusting the grip on the Dreadwing Blade.
Kira didn't argue or offer a tearful farewell. She was a warrior, she understood the absolute necessity of blood-testing new equipment before a siege. "Be careful, Sol. Don't push too deep. The jungle has been a bit restless these days."
"Don't worry, I don't plan on pushing deep," Sol replied with a dark, confident smirk. "I plan on pushing hard."
"I'll be back by moonfall," he said.
With a single, explosive burst of his improved strength, he blurred toward the southern gates, ignoring the startled shouts of the guards, and plunged into the emerald nightmare of the Great Orrath.
