Damn Flying Hawks

Arthur hauled himself up from the collapsed tomb, his claws scraping against the cracked stone as he emerged into a new landscape. His wings tucked tightly against his back, and his massive, thick tail dragged along the ground, stirring up loose embers that floated in the air. What stood before him now was Cinderspire Gorge, and it was unlike anything he'd seen so far.

The jagged black spires twisted out of the ground like monstrous claws, each towering structure charred and cracked, as if the earth itself had once tried to claw its way to the heavens. Winds howled through the narrow gaps between these stone formations, whistling in strange, haunting melodies that sounded like the whispers of forgotten beings. Arthur's molten claws scraped the ground, and he marveled at how the very air seemed to pulse with ancient energy.