I glide over the endless mountains, my wings straining against the thin air as the elevation rises. Below me, the dense forest begins to thin, the trees growing smaller and more twisted as they cling to the rocky slopes. The air is sharper here, crisp and cold, carrying the scent of ice and stone.
I swoop down occasionally, plucking fruits from scraggly bushes or snapping up clusters of berries that cling stubbornly to the wind-bent trees. They are bitter and unsatisfying, a poor substitute for real nourishment, but I take what I can. As I approach the towering peaks, I gather another armful of fruit and tuck it against my chest, knowing that whatever lies beyond these mountains will likely be even harsher.
By the time I crest the final ridge, a vast expanse of land unfolds before me. The terrain transitions from jagged rock back to rolling forests, stretching toward the horizon in an endless sea of green. Relief washes over me—there is life beyond this desolate range. But just as I prepare to continue my flight, something stirs below.
A presence.
I slow, my eyes narrowing as I scan the ground beneath me. Movement—something large. And then I see it.
A massive, bipedal beast, lumbering across the snowy slope. Thick, matted white fur drapes over its hulking frame, blending into the snowdrifts around it. A yeti.
A flicker of memory rises—something about them being foul-tasting. But my stomach twists in protest. I haven't had a real meal since I awoke.
My body moves before I can fully think it through. I descend, tucking my wings in just enough to drop swiftly, keeping myself silent as I approach. The cold wind cuts against my scales, the ground rushing closer. Closer. Almost within reach—
But then it stops.
Its nostrils flare. It turns sharply, looking up just as my shadow passes over it.
A roar erupts from its chest, deep and rumbling, shaking the very air around it.
I don't hesitate. I fold my wings fully and dive.
The wind howls past my ears as I angle my talons forward. Just before impact, I snap my wings open, catching the air and pulling up sharply. My back claws slam into the yeti's shoulders, hooking deep into its flesh. With a powerful thrust, I beat my wings, hauling the beast off the ground.
It roars in panic, its massive limbs flailing as I lift it higher. The extra weight strains my wings, but I grit my teeth and climb, taking it far enough that escape is impossible. Then, with a final surge of strength, I release my grip—The yeti drops.
It crashes into the snow with a bone-rattling thud, stunned just long enough for me to finish the job. I dive again, this time latching my jaws around its throat. A sharp twist, a wet snap, and the struggling ceases.
Warm blood sprays over my scales, thick and reeking.
The scent ignites something deep inside me. Hunger.
I rip into the carcass, tearing through flesh, swallowing chunks of stringy meat. It's as awful as I feared—bitter, gamey, the stench clinging to my tongue—but I eat anyway. I eat because I must.
Still, I grimace between bites, growling under my breath. This is disgusting.
Eventually, my hunger fades enough for me to stop. I lift my head, licking the blood from my fangs, but the taste lingers, thick and cloying. I scowl at the remains.
With a huff, I shove my snout into the snow, rubbing it furiously against the ice to rid myself of the stink. My claws follow, scraping against the frost to clean away the sticky red. The cold bites at my skin, but I welcome it. Anything to erase the lingering taste.
Satisfied that I am no longer coated in the foul scent, I shake out my wings and leap into the sky once more.
The mountains are behind me now. Ahead, the forest stretches wide, still blanketed in snow. The trees stand frozen, their branches weighed down by ice, and the rivers carve dark lines through the white landscape. It will be a while before the warmth of the lowlands reaches this place.
I fly northward, leaving the carcass behind.
———
Hours pass. The cold wind rushes over my scales as I soar, stretching my wings wide to ride the air currents. Below, the snow-covered forest spreads endlessly, untouched and wild. The occasional glimmer of a river cuts through the trees, winding like a silver serpent through the land.
Then—another presence.
Not below this time. Behind.
A faint shift in the wind. A disturbance in the air. Instinct prickles at the edges of my awareness. I angle my wings slightly, adjusting my flight, and steal a glance over my shoulder.
At first, I think it's an eagle—huge, broad-winged, cutting through the sky with terrifying speed. But as it draws closer, I catch sight of its body. The powerful muscles beneath golden feathers. The sharp beak and piercing eyes of a bird of prey—
And the strong, feline hindquarters of a predator.
A griffon.
Smaller than me. Maybe half of my size, though its wings are broad and powerful.
My mouth parts slightly, my hunger suddenly sharpening again.
Ah, just my luck.
I just forced down that awful creature, and now I come across this—a great delicacy. A lion and a bird in one.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I roll my shoulders and flex my claws.
This might just make up for that wretched yeti.
I bank sharply, turning to meet the griffon head-on. It screeches, wings flaring as it closes the distance, talons outstretched. I twist, slashing at it midair, forcing it to veer back.
It's fast.
But I am faster.
I dive, then twist upward, my claws raking toward its side. It screeches and barrels away, then snaps its beak toward me with surprising agility. I barely pull back in time to avoid the bite.
Then the air shifts, and I realize my mistake.
The griffon is using magic.
Wind slams into me, throwing me back. Ice follows, sharp as daggers. I snarl and shake the frost away, but it's already preparing another spell. I reach for my own magic—only to feel nothing.
Panic coils in my chest. I have magic, I know I do, but it won't come. The griffon's magic presses against me, the elements bending to its will as easily as breathing.
No. Enough.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply. The world hums with mana, invisible threads woven into every breath of air. I reach—deeper, further—until something stirs.
Power surges through me.
I lash out with my own wind blades, ice forming along their edges. The griffon flinches as the first strike lands, but something feels wrong. Ice is ineffective, doing little more than what the griffon itself could summon. I am merely copying its methods.
No. That will not do.
I reach deeper—beyond the chill, beyond the biting wind. I find warmth. Fire.
I channel it, fusing my wind blades with searing heat. The next strike lands true. The griffon screeches, its feathers catching fire, the flames burrowing beneath its skin, burning from the inside out.
It flails, wings faltering, and then—
It falls.
I dive after it, the wind rushing past my ears. The forest rises beneath us, the snow reflecting the flickering embers clinging to the griffon's body.
I bare my fangs.
Time to finish this.