Zael slipped off of the edge upon which he sat, and the thunder which followed was enormous, a resounding BOOM
that shook all the stone of Ganfarred Keep's remains. Swirling fire and smoke was left where Zael once sat. The trees on the outside of the walls, those great green canopies, shook violently.
Zael was gone. Flying away. His form lost among the treetops. No subsequent propelling explosions ensued, no trail of sound by which to follow.
He did what he thought was necessary here. But he knew well that many Initiates, many Dreadlords
, wouldn't understand, wouldn't care, and most certainly wouldn't talk. They had to do what they thought was necessary too—some of them, at least. This, even if it was not Zael's wish to fight them. And so to avoid that fight, while only one Initiate was even aware of him, he escaped. A luxury today. Maybe tomorrow, maybe some day long after, he wouldn't be able to. He'd be forced to fight the very people, some of them even friends, he was trying to liberate.
But today was not that day.
He thought to himself, when he got to the very edge of Anirian lands, that he had some letters to write.