Snow whipped against the cliffside as Atrok perched atop the mountain, golden scales glinting beneath a sliver of moonlight. His eyes scanned the horizon where the elven lights flickered faintly in the distance. With a low growl, he shifted, wings folding inward as his body shrank, bones twisting into a humanoid frame. He loathed the fragile form, yet when he glanced at his hands—mere flesh instead of talons—he clenched them with resolve.
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