He's deep in meditation, trying to find his center, to bolster it, to be a steadier object in this tumultuous sequence of events that touches so many. So deep in it in fact, that he doesn't quite hear the noise of ringing sword blows that echo through the gorge.

However, when the Great Sword is activated, the sensation is impossible to miss, even through all the work he's done to try to shut it out. Wing sits a moment, stark, wide-eyed and quivering, his own spark giving frantic pulses in its chamber.

It doesn't matter that he's not perfectly certain, just the mere chance of what it might be is enough to get him moving, his only concern whatever danger may have warranted the Sword's activation, all past thoughts and other considerations gone.

Wing owns the air at the speed of thought, easily spotting the location by the telltale flicking light for the sword. When he arrives he leaves his alt and draws his weapons in one smooth motion, touching down with optics casting about to asses the situation. He wavers then, slightly confused at the scene (or lack thereof), weapons hovering in his hands, inactive.