Windora State…
Above an endless stretch of prairie, a group of Winged Clan elites hovered in midair, staring down at the zombie horde with undisguised surprise.
They'd only flown this way to try their luck. Based on the clues they'd found, their target hadn't escaped in this direction.
And yet—down there—the zombies looked eerily similar to what they were hunting.
Sure, the eyes were the zombies' signature dark red. But everything else… almost identical.
Hope sparked through the group.
Maybe—just maybe—the trail they needed was here.
Because Lord Aeralon had issued a final ultimatum. If they still couldn't find anything, they were dead. All of them.
"Should we notify Lord Aeralon?" one of them asked.
"Notify him when we haven't even found the person?" another snapped. "You trying to get screamed at?"
The first man hesitated. "I'm worried we don't have enough people to handle whoever it is."
