I reached the outer blocks by mid-day.
The flight had been steady; a long blur of cold air interlaced with shallow climbs to glide and "snacks" on demand. My wing had recovered a long time ago and I felt no discomfort or shadow pain. When the ground began to shift from clean snow to stone showing through in dark patches I had arrived.
I circled once to ensure there was no immediate threat before gliding down.
There were too many places with walls sticking out and loose footing that would trap me if I mistook them. Eventually, I chose a flat stretch between toppled blocks, the main road – path? – and folded my wings tightly as my weight settled.
The stone beneath my claws was unnaturally cold even for the Northern Wastes and felt dead in essence.
Now, I walked along the lane trying to find a suitable place to be my base of operations and to map the layout of the surrounding area. Most of the structures looked to have burned and split clean while some had cracked and peeled like bark.
Once I found a good spot between two slabs, I used my claws to scrape the snow and loose gravel away before digging down to deepen and widen a hole in-between. It wasn't comfort but it would keep my back and underside from being exposed while keeping the worst of the biting wind buffered.
Utum was not just one single keep, but a field of toppled walls, ruined housing, and broken forges. I searched with a speculative eye, upheaving wherever the snow fell thin and the stone sank at odd angles.
A spot near the eastern side kept drawing me in.
The spot didn't look dramatic or wrong, but the snow didn't pile naturally and lay like a shallow sheet that had shifted due to movement.
I walked around it, testing the ground. The stone sounded different when my claws raked across it Not loud enough. Not hard enough.
I backed up then breathed a small line of flame, small and controlled, that made the snow hiss as it collapsed exposing a black rock that was discolored compared to the stones around it.
Leaning down, I pressed my muzzle close and inhaled. The air coming up was dry and stale, carrying dust and iron.
Setting a mental marker, I left it alone to keep searching.
Not because I was afraid of where it led, but because I had done enough digging for the day. Also, I wanted to eliminate other areas so that when I committed to delving, it would be the only place left to check.
Just before nightfall, I found two parties of orcs to the south.
The band was camped out at the edge, using the terrain to hide their flames, but my nose had long smelled their stench. I waited until there was a loud argument before I dropped in from the sky, landing on top of the furthest sentry.
The first to react was the wolves, leaping to their feet and growling right at me. The orcs turned, the first one mid shout as my jaw chopped him in half. I felt a spear scrape along my scales, not biting.
Two tried to run.
I surged forward, dissecting one with my left claw and crushing the other with my right. Turning, I used the momentum to strike two wolves with my tail, crushing their ribs. The remaining six to seven orcs charged with axes raised and thunderous war cries.
The fight was brutal and messy; my claws stained with blackened blood and intestines littering the floor. I killed them in order of convenience; the ones closest first, the ones with bows next, the ones trying to ambush. The last didn't fight back, he died pissing himself and whimpering as I burned him to ash.
I dug a hole in the ground and buried all of the bodies and parts.
By the time I returned to my "base," the wind had picked up and the sky was pitch black. Settling into my hole, I closed my eyes. The warmth of home was absent, the hissing of steam vents was lost, this was mot a place to linger for long.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Waking up, a was greeted by a heavy weight in the air and a sea of white covering everything. But the sun was out. Great weather for work.
I went to the marked slab and started my day's labor. I widened the exposed cut first, using my claws to peel away ice and break the brittle crust. Every scrape sent vibrations through my bones, pulling at my healed shoulder, but I used different angles and my weight rather than fight my joints.
When the opening was large enough to accommodate my head, I breathed into it.
A longer, stronger stream this time with enough force and precision to melt the rock around the edge. The liquid magma ran down into the hole, disappearing into the murky depths.
Halting myself, I listened to the drops while checking for signs of life. Nothing moved. No distant echoes of life. Just air dropped into space.
I started breaking stone.
I chose the weakest points, where black rock met broken ones at a seam of old fracture, and drove my claws into it again. And again. And again. Until it split, the sound sharp and ringing, the crack ran down before angling inward. The stone gave away and dropped, vanishing into the darkness below, as cold air surged up, carrying dust.
I stepped back and let it settle before inspecting the bigger hole. The gap was wide enough now to allow light to leak into the cave, though I could tell the very air rejected its import. The passage was man-made, obvious from the wall angles too straight and the floor was too flat.
I lowered myself down, gripping the edges, as I fully entered the abyss. The drop ended on a platform.
Stone met claw, slick with condensation, as the ceiling hung low, brushing my back.
Turning my head, I saw the corridor lead into an impenetrable darkness. The walls, now closer, looked smoothed into shape instead of chiseled with tools. Old marks marred the surface and different but distinct scratched and gouges crisscrossed over and over.
I shifted my weight cautiously before moving slowly forward, step by step.
The corridor eventually opened into a wider chamber littered with pits. Circular opening cut into the floor, their edges worn smooth by use, and chains lay coiled next to each one, thick links fused with rust. There was stains on the floor that seemed to violate the very stone it lay on. Black patches that time couldn't erase with dark streaks leading to a drain cut in the floor.
I did not step too close but edged my way along the wall towards the nearest opening. The darkness in the pit swallowed my sight, the space not feeling wrong but empty. Without air or mass or existence.
I pulled back, my heart pounding, and scanned the room further. There were more corridors branching out, some collapsed, some open. Grooves ran through the stone where heavy things had been dragged and claw marks marred the walls, smaller than a dragon but at a man's height. Broken bits of bone littered the corners, ground down and scattered like someone had tried to clean but gave up halfway through.
This was not an armory. This was not a storehouse.
This was where creation was made and unmade again.
I stood there for a long moment, wings tight, breathing slowly, letting my eyes adjust and my ears decompress. The chamber stayed silent. The pits stayed quiet. The corridors stayed still.
The air tightened. Every sound felt closer than it should have been.
I turned my head back toward the passage I had come from, measuring the distance, measuring my courage, measuring how long it would take me to run away if something decided to devour me.
Then I moved deeper, keeping to the wall, choosing a corridor I had spotted sloping down with air more bitter than any other option.
My claws dug deeper as the slope angled downward and the darkness thickened as Utum swallowed me whole.