The freezing mountain wind howled through the razor crags of the Iron Range, biting into Sagiri's exposed skin as he moved across the high northwestern ridges.
He leaped across a wide chasm between two jagged peaks, his boots finding secure purchase on the slick, frost-coated shale without slipping down the sheer precipice.
The weight of the Living Memory pulsed steadily in his blood, radiating a deep, rhythmic warmth that kept his limbs agile against the bitter sub-zero gale.
Across his back, Nokai rested silently beneath its weathered gray cloth wraps, its dark steel humming faintly with quiet, predatory anticipation.
He had been running for hours through the rugged northwestern passes, putting leagues of frozen wilderness between himself and the roaring battle in the Western Basin.
Far to the southeast, the subterranean vibrations in the bedrock had finally settled into a rhythmic hum, signaling that Zaira had broken the western line.
