Book One – Chapter 13

Two shapes soared past Gorak, cutting through the storm with terrifying speed. The wizard had followed the voltera, propelling himself off the mountain with a leap that defied nature. He plummeted through the air, his descent rapid and calculated, a predator honing in on prey. Behind him, the avian beast followed — its head thrust forward, beak like a spear, slicing through the storm without hesitation. Wingless, yet it glided as if the winds themselves bent to its will.

As the wizard fell, his body warped and expanded, muscles bulging beneath his skin, bones stretching and twisting in abstruse contortions, legs lengthening into talon-like appendages. His feet gnarled into vicious claws while grand folds of skin erupted from his back, fusing with his arms, thickening and sprouting feathers in an instant;  monstrous wings snapping open. His transformation was swift and violent, a grotesque act of primal magic that twisted his form into something both beastly and horrifying. He had become a creature of flight, an abomination far larger, far more terrifying than the voltera.

Before the storm swallowed him, Gorak caught one last glimpse — the gleam of talons, as the wizard dove toward the avian beast. With a single, powerful strike of his wings, the wizard surged forward. His warped claws reached out, poised to snatch the avian beast in mid-flight. The air churned violently around them, the storm growing thicker, darker. In an instant, the two figures vanished into the swirling chaos.

Gorak spun around and raised his corotashell horn to his cracked lips, blowing a long, guttural note upwards. The sound resonated through the frozen air, a mournful call meant to carry upwards to those still on the Snowtrail. It was a warning, a cry to alert the remaining warriors of the unseen threat. But the storm clawed at the sound, drowning it in its howling winds. Gorak did not know if it would reach his brother and his bretheren. Then he started to climb.