When Argolaith emerged from the ruins, the sky above the mountain had changed.
Dark clouds coiled overhead, heavy and unmoving—not with rain, but with tension. Lightning flickered silently behind the veil, tracing jagged, slow-moving lines across the heavens.
The others were already on their feet, their gear packed, eyes fixed on the churning sky.
Kaelred was the first to speak. "That storm wasn't there yesterday."
"It wasn't there an hour ago," Thae'Zirak added, voice low.
Argolaith didn't hesitate. "It's over Seminah."
All heads turned. The storm sat far to the south, just above the horizon—barely visible through the forest, but unmistakable now that they knew where to look. It wasn't moving with the wind. It wasn't spreading. It had formed, fully grown, like it had been summoned.
Malakar narrowed his violet eyes. "The land is reacting to something. Or someone."
"Maybe the god Naruul mentioned," Kaelred muttered. "Maybe it knows we're coming."
