Anomaly of Fate

A sinking feeling settled in Velren’s gut. That roar. That shadow. There was no doubt now—whatever was up there was the culprit of the damn avalanche.

"Fuck, that doesn’t sound good," he muttered under his breath.

Without wasting a second, he broke into a sprint. His legs burned with the lingering strain from earlier, but he pushed through, his focus was locked onto the rapidly moving carriage ahead. The sound of hooves pounding against the dirt, the creaking of the wheels, and Nico’s urgent shouts blended into the chaos of the moment.

He lunged, gripping the wooden frame of the carriage’s side, hoisting himself up with a swift motion before securing a hold. Still hanging onto the side, Velren tilted his head upward, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the skies.

And then—it came into view.

Perched atop a jagged peak overlooking the pass, a wyvern stood in ominous silence.

Its enormous, leathery wings were partially unfurled, their sheer size casting an even greater shadow across the mountainside. Its elongated, sinewy body was covered in dark, overlapping scales, each plate gleaming under the pale sunlight with a metallic sheen. A ridged spine ran from the base of its thick neck down to its powerful, coiled tail, ending in a wickedly curved barbed tip—a natural weapon designed to maim and kill.

But what sent a chill down Velren’s spine was its eyes.

Two burning, predatory orbs of molten gold, locked onto them with an almost unnatural level of intelligence. The wyvern wasn’t just watching—it was calculating. The avalanche hadn’t been a random act of nature. It had been a trap. And now, the predator was preparing to strike.

Nico’s breath hitched, his hands tightening around the reins.

"Kid—" His voice wavered, eyes darting toward the looming figure above.