The cobblestones wouldn't stop trembling. If anything, the vibrations were growing steadily stronger. The rhythm of the tremors crawling up through the soles of their feet was far too regular. This wasn't an earthquake. It was something alive. Footsteps—something approaching with the steady rhythm of breath—were striking the stone floor of the ruined city. "It's coming," Aira said quietly. She drew her sword. The blade slid from its sheath, catching the light from the purple sky with a dull gleam. Her long reddish-brown hair was tied back, and her green eyes fixed straight ahead on the outer edge of the ruined city—beyond the crumbling buildings, toward the direction where rubble accumulated. There was a composed air about her bearing. It was the honed reaction of a female knight, a vice-captain of the vanguard sent to the frontier, sharpened by the battlefield. Raid braced himself as well. The pale blue scar on his left arm—the mark of circuits damaged by magical fusion—was beginn