The suffocating stillness that settled over the ruined, dust-filled courtyard of the Faith Family estate was suddenly cut by a sharp, microscopic ripple in the air.
Tony Clark stood perfectly still near the bow of his obsidian chariot. His hands were casually tucked into the pockets of his dark hunting cloak. His standard, lazy posture was fully intact, and his dark eyes were locked onto the pale, trembling figures of the remaining Faith elders scrambling out of the grand ancestral hall.
Beside his leather boots, the massive Crimson Shadow Griffin kept its eagle-like head lowered in serene devotion, its purple galaxy eyes blinking softly as the dust settled over the rubble.
