Martin soared through the crisp, clear skies of the northwest, his cloak billowing behind him as he surveyed the rugged terrain below. Beside him, Sven clung tightly in his back, his knuckles white as he marveled at the sight from above.
"Are you sure you remember the way, old man?" Martin asked, glancing over at Sven, who had a look of sheer exhilaration despite the nervous grip he had on his seat.
"Aye, my lord," Sven replied, his voice steady with confidence. "I may be old, but I haven't forgotten the paths I walked in my youth. Head toward those peaks over there." He pointed a gnarled finger towards a cluster of dark, looming mountains in the distance. "That's where you'll find the old gold mine, hidden deep in those hills."
Martin adjusted his course, following Sven's direction. "You're certain the mine is still there?"
Sven nodded, his eyes sharp despite his age. "As certain as I can be. The beasts drove us out back then, but the mine… "
Martin's thoughts turned to the tales he'd heard of this place—of the vast wealth that lay buried beneath the earth, guarded by wild creatures and treacherous terrain.
"How far from here?" Martin asked, scanning the horizon for any signs of the mine.
"Not far now," Sven replied, his voice tinged with excitement. "Just beyond that ridge. You'll see an old, twisted oak tree—it marks the entrance."
Martin nodded, focusing on the landscape ahead. "And the beasts? What are we dealing with?"
"Wolves, mostly," Sven said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "But not like any wolves you've seen before. These are large, vicious creatures, driven mad by something in the earth. They guard the place like it's their own."
Martin and Sven flew silently through the darkened skies of the northwest, the frigid air biting at their faces as they neared the old gold mine. The once beautiful, snow-covered landscape now seemed foreboding, with twisted, leafless trees and jagged rocks poking through the snow like bones in a graveyard. Sven, though old and weathered, couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration.
"There," Sven pointed, his voice barely a whisper, directing Martin toward a desolate ridge where the mine was rumored to be. "Just beyond that oak… the twisted one."
Martin saw it immediately—a gnarled, ancient tree, its branches contorted unnaturally, as if in eternal agony. But what truly caught his attention were the shapes moving beneath it. In the dim light, they were barely distinguishable from the snow—hulking, pale figures that seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy.
"Mutant Arctic foxes," Sven muttered, his voice heavy with fear. "They're not just beasts anymore… they've been corrupted by something foul."
Martin descended, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. The foxes were unlike anything he had ever encountered—massive, their fur so white it was almost translucent, with eyes glowing a sickly green. They moved in perfect unison, their snarls echoing through the dead silence of the ridge.
"Stay back," Martin ordered, his voice cold and distant. He could feel the darkness in this place, something far more malevolent than just twisted creatures. It seeped into his bones, fueling his magic with a grim determination.
He landed softly on the snow, raising a hand. The foxes stopped, their heads snapping towards him as one, teeth bared in a snarl that sent shivers down Sven's spine. Martin could sense the malice radiating from them, like a black fog ready to envelop him.
Without hesitation, Martin unleashed a torrent of fire from his hand. The flames roared to life, bright and furious, as they surged toward the foxes. But instead of fleeing, the creatures lunged forward, their bodies igniting, yet they did not scream. Their green eyes burned with hatred as they continued their relentless charge, flames licking at their fur, turning their once pristine white coats to charred black.
Martin poured more power into the fire, the heat intensifying until the very air around them shimmered. The foxes finally succumbed, collapsing into the snow, their bodies crumbling into ash.
Martin's gaze shifted to the twisted oak, the source of this corruption. The tree seemed to writhe as if alive, its branches reaching out toward him. With a furious roar, Martin summoned a gale of wind, the force of it tearing at the ground, ripping the tree from its roots. The earth groaned and cracked, and as the tree was torn apart, the foul stench of decay filled the air.
But the wind didn't stop there. It spread across the ridge, leveling the ground, tearing through the rocks, and scouring the earth until it was barren. The snow melted away, revealing the dark, scarred land beneath. Martin's magic twisted the very landscape, erasing any trace of the creatures and the evil that had inhabited this place.
When it was over, the ridge was silent again, but the silence was different—heavy, final. The twisted oak was no more, and the ground lay scorched and blackened, like a wound on the earth.
Martin stood amidst the devastation, Sven approached cautiously, his face pale as he looked at the ruined landscape.
Martin and Sven ventured deeper into the abandoned gold mine, their footsteps echoing through the cold, damp tunnels. After hours of navigating the winding passages, they arrived at a cavern of immense size, illuminated by the eerie glow light.
In the center of the chamber stood a colossal ice crystal, towering and translucent. Within its heart was an enormous egg, encased in the frozen structure. The egg's surface shimmered with intricate patterns, which seemed to dance with the play of light.
Martin approached the crystal, his breath forming clouds of mist in the frigid air. Sven, his eyes wide with a mix of reverence and trepidation, spoke in a hushed tone. "I've heard of rare phenomena, but this is beyond anything I imagined. This egg is embedded in pure ice... It's as if it's been preserved for centuries."
Martin inspected the ice crystal closely. The egg inside was massive, its surface adorned with strange, unfamiliar runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. "This is no ordinary egg," Martin said, his voice tinged with awe. "Its preservation and the runes suggest it holds great significance, but they have weakened."
Martin, his curiosity piqued, used his magic to carefully defrost the ice surrounding the egg. The process was slow and meticulous, each spell casting away layers of frost. As the ice finally melted away, the egg's surface revealed intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with a faint, internal light.With the ice completely removed, Martin inspected the egg closely. It was a mesmerizing sight—translucent and iridescent, with a gentle glow emanating from within. He would hatch this egg.