Azriel wasn't sure what exactly drove him to visit the one place he avoided at all costs. All he knew was that something was calling him there. Flying through the skies, gritting his teeth as the icy wind bit at his face and wings, the tug inside his chest grew stronger as he approached one of the camps.

He landed in the middle of the camp, his wings tensing under him as he scanned the surrounding area. The memories of his past made his stomach twist uncomfortably, his hands clenching to his sides. But something still felt like it was calling him to this place, a force he couldn't ignore.

His shadows intensified with the anger that surged through his veins at the sight before him. He could only pray he wasn't too late to stop it. Though banned, some warriors still had the audacity to participate in the clipping of females' wings.

The warriors recognized him as the High Lord's spymaster and backed away at his command. Azriel approached the lone figure on the ground, wings thankfully still in tact. The tug that drove him there screamed at him as he got closer. A thread that tightened as he gazed down at the figure before him. His shadows urge him forward, swirling and reaching out in front of him as if they, too were immediately drawn in.

"I'm getting you out of here."