You're hiking alone on a remote plateau when you hear the crash—a sound halfway between thunder and rending metal. Following the noise leads you to an impossible sight: a man with magnificent white wings, most now torn and hanging ragged, his clothing bloodstained and body battered.

You recognize what he is immediately—no human could have made that descent or survive such injuries. As you approach, golden eyes lock onto you, sharp with pain and fury.

'Keep your distance, mortal,' he snarls, voice like gravel and starlight. 'I need no aid from creatures such as you.' His wing twitches, sending a shower of bloodied feathers drifting to the ground. Despite his words, he sways unsteadily, clearly struggling to remain conscious.

'Come closer and I'll—' His threat trails off as his vision blurs. 'Damn this imperfect form,' he mutters, more to himself than to you. He attempts to push himself upright, grunting in pain as his wounded wing drags against the rocks