Chapter 141 -141-The Howling Gale
The Great Rift Valley.
With a single step, Owen appeared within a newly claimed stretch of land—an enormous rift valley that had just been enveloped by the expanding borders of his divine territory.
Nestled between two towering mountain peaks, the valley was a natural funnel for the fierce winds howling through it. Violent gusts surged in from every direction, magnified by the terrain. The winds shrieked with such force that they seemed to crease and warp the very fabric of the air.
Even the solid mountain stone, forged by millennia of pressure, had been carved into jagged ridges and fissures by the merciless gales. The very rock bore scars—etched deep and wide—left by the relentless fury of the wind.
Owen stood silently, gazing over the desolate scene. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
This place was extraordinary.
A natural sanctuary for wind elementals—a paradise for anyone blessed with a wind-based constitution. If someone were born or raised here, they would no doubt develop a purer, more refined wind affinity than anywhere else.
But alas, the winds here were far too savage for humans—or even most spellbeasts—to inhabit. Not even the thick-skinned beasts that roamed the wild dared settle here. The landscape was barren, stripped of all vegetation. There was no sign of grass, no roots, no vines.
Only silence.
And yet... amid the emptiness, in the very heart of the rift, Owen felt it—a faint, pulsing presence.
At the center of the valley, within a swirling vortex of wind, something unusual hovered. The storm itself, as if guided by unseen hands, shaped its currents into a protective cradle, suspending a single egg within its grasp.