The snow beneath Zephyr's boots crunched as he walked sluggishly towards north. He didn't need to hurry to hunt points for his team, Keal has warned him about showing too much power but someone has misunderstood.
But the main reason was to conserve strength, Noctis will sniff him anyway. He always did.
Zephyr was seriously annoyed at the petty bastard, seriously didn't he have anything better to do, other then disturbing his life.
White stretched forever in every direction. The domain's air was weightless, but heavy with presence, like it knew he didn't belong here. The snowflakes falling weren't soft—they were razor-thin hexagons of pressure, each one a fractured reflection of time. And before he knew, he had crossed a considerable distance.
Then from his Spatial sence a flicker of motion.
A shadow shifted between two pale trees. Zephyr stopped, his eyes narrowing. His grip around the scythe handle at his back subtly adjusted.
A second passed. Then a voice.
