Zaruki didn't respond.
He couldn't.
But the wind had no such restraint.
It coiled around them, an excited force that lifted them gently off the ground before spiraling outward, howling through the glade in a wild dance. Trees shook. Leaves sliced clean from branches. Petals were shredded mid-air. It wasn't a gust—it was a frenzy.
Lang shielded his eyes as a vibrant storm of color blurred his vision, an explosion of reds, oranges, and yellows that looked like autumn itself had come alive and decided to celebrate.
And then—quiet.
The wind calmed, the chaos faded, and Lang blinked at the sight in front of him.
The once-lush glade now bore clear signs of battle. Branches had been stripped. Flower beds reduced to patches of bald earth. Even a tree or two had been half-tilted from the force of the wind.
Lang's mouth fell open.
He turned slowly to Zaruki, not sure what expression he'd find.
