The vast, silver-scaled wings pierced through the clouds as the silver-haired man took flight, the gyrfalcon gliding close behind him. Each beat of his wings displaced the sky itself, their span nearly twice the length of his human form, casting fleeting shadows across the drifting mist.
The air offered him no resistance. It parted willingly, bending around his presence as he moved—so smooth and unhurried it felt as though he were traveling along an invisible thoroughfare carved into the heavens. His long hair stirred only faintly, strands lifting and settling against his serene, almost unreal features.
Xevia darted through the thinning clouds, dipping beneath him to avoid the trailing folds of his robes, sharp eyes fixed ahead as it matched his pace.
Time passed—how much, even the man did not bother to measure.
