Lightning streaked across the sky, waiting for no man.
Abram was a streak of pure energy, his body a blinding arc of white as he shot towards the battle raging up in the sky. Freedom, the blade that had been passed down from father to child in the Ross family, hummed with power in his grip.
His friend, Thomas, had fallen, and the sky could not be left empty without a powerhouse. He could see the Underwood Soldiers forming a protective barrier around their lord, even as Druids and Knight clashed in brutal close quarters, around them.
He looked away, focusing back on where he was going. Above, the sky belonged to him. And to two others.
Kael was the first to lunge. His dragon roared, twisting through the sky with terrifying speed. The warrior's sickle flew forward, the long chain attached to its hilt whistling as it spun.
