'What in the world are these people?'
The wind vortex intensified, blazing all around us until even we had to back off. The sheer force of it pressed against my chest, hot and wild, carrying grit that stung exposed skin.
Milo's coat fluttered and whipped around him, flying like the cape of a superhero against the turbulent winds. He stood at the center of it all, utterly unbothered, one hand raised and the other holding that massive tome like it weighed nothing.
Finally the wind calmed and a large glowing circle materialized in the air. It pulsed once, twice, then shot out a projectile of compressed wind with explosive force. The projectile arced across the sky, a streak of distorted air, diving down toward the southern plains.
It landed with another thunderous crack that rolled back toward us across the open ground, but there was no explosion, no devastation. Just the sound, and then silence.
Then Milo slammed the book closed and adjusted his glasses.
"That should do it."
