Art of assassination
After leaving the griffins to digest the gravity of their upcoming roles in her daring plan, Gaya made her way back to the City of Goldspire. Upon reaching their shared quarters, she found Michael engrossed in his alchemy, a series of ingredients levitating and swirling into the dark flames that danced above his open palms.
"What's cooking?" Gaya quipped as she leaned against the doorframe, watching the sparks fly from the concoction.
Without missing a beat, Michael glanced up, a wry smile playing on his lips.
"Just a little something to tip the scales in our favor against Borgin Ironfist. If this works, he'll be as weak as a newborn kitten."
Gaya chuckled and made her way to sit on the edge of their bed, her mind still replaying the day's events.
"The griffins are on board, though it took some convincing—and a bit of divine intervention," she began, her tone laced with a mix of amusement and relief.