The sky had already changed hue when Strax took flight again, his white wings cutting through the air with a more controlled rhythm this time, no longer driven by the urgency of combat, but by a silent caution that hung over them all. His colossal body served as a stable support as he carried the three of them, creating a kind of makeshift refuge in the middle of the open vastness, where the wind was still strong, but not hostile. Still, the atmosphere between them was different—denser, more attentive, as if any word could touch something too fragile to be ignored.
