The sun dipped toward the horizon, spilling warm gold hues across the plateau and painting the sky in streaks of amber and crimson. The air shimmered with the last warmth of the day as Alaric strode forward, his powerful frame silhouetted against the waning light. On his back, Kane lay motionless, his head resting against the prince's broad shoulders, his breath soft and even as if lost in deep slumber.
Two figures stood rigid with anticipation at the base of the hanging bridge. Angus and Aramis, who had scoured every inch of Galeya's Throne and turned it upside down in search of their prince, now watched in stunned silence as Alaric approached at a leisurely pace. Their search had led them through the dense wilderness along the side of Mount Ourea, yet they had found nothing—until now.
Aramis squinted as he tried to decipher what the prince was carrying.
"It is Kane." Angus murmured, his tone laced with recognition and saving Aramis further trouble.
