The sky was no longer an expanse of air and clouds. To Hilga, it had become a domain of wounds, each rift a festering sore that leaked the poison of another dimension into her world.
She moved through the high altitudes not as a bird, but as a falling star that refused to touch the ground. The Golden Armor of Aegis hummed against her skin, a constant, vibrating reminder of the divinity she now carried, but the weight of it was starting to press into her soul.
"Just one more," Hilga whispered to herself, her voice lost in the howling gale of the upper atmosphere. "For Mistress Vienna. For Egon. Just one more."
