The brush lifted him smoothly into the air, wind tugging at his clothes as he gained height. Auri scanned fast, marking positions like points on a mental map.
Darius was to the far north end of the dome, near the splintered frame of what used to be a weapon rack. Crates and broken spears littered the sand around him, relics of the bandit camp now buried under chaos. The ring of metal-on-metal echoed from that direction—sharp and unyielding.
Wrye was southeast by the charred remains of a cooking pit. Scorched pans and scattered food sacks marked the place where bandits once gathered. Now, he moved like a storm in tight motion, fists flashing as he pressed and parried the brute warrior step by step.
To the west, Ambassador Jiang had drawn Marza closer to a partially collapsed lookout scaffold. Its crooked frame jutted from the sand like a rib cage. The area shimmered faintly with the residue of her conjured magic clashing against the ambassador's eastern technique.
