Unknown creature

The world wasn't always like this. The air once sparkled with magic, but people grew afraid and began the Great Hunt. The Inquisitors slaughtered mages whole families—no one was spared. Only one child survived.

He was about ten years old when soldiers burned down the shelter. His parents sheltered him, allowing him to escape into the forest. From then on, he wandered alone. Almost no magic remained in him. He lived in the ruins of the forest, ate roots, drank spring water, and slept under the rubble. Every day, he looked to the horizon and waited. He believed that other mages had survived and would one day come for him. He couldn't be the last.

He sat on the grass by the wall, trying to kindle a dark flame in his palms. Black matter pulsed in the air, from which he tried to grow a green shoot. Sometimes one would appear, but if he was distracted, the energy would burn it to dust. He was angry, but he didn't give up. Magic was all he had left.

Suddenly, a huge shadow split the sky. The child felt a gust of wind that fluttered the hem of his threadbare clothes and flattened the tall grass at his elbow. He froze for a moment.

But then came the loud flapping of wings. The wind grew sharper, stronger—it hit the boy in the face, forcing him to squint, and then a shadow covered him completely. At that very moment, a creature landed heavily on the wall he had leaned against. The stones shook, dust fell, and a few small pebbles rolled onto his shoulder. The child raised his head, pressing himself against the cold stonework.

Directly before him, looming over the rubble, sat a bird-like creature. Black, enormous, with the body of a beast, a long tail, and gigantic wings that were still slowly folding behind its back. Its claws dug into the stone, leaving fine scratches. But the most terrifying thing was its head—with curved horns and a white, porcelain-smooth face, devoid of any emotion. The creature tilted its head and stared at the child with empty eyes.

A deep voice, as if from the bottom of a well, rumbled:
"You sit here, on the ruins, trying to create life from nothing. You spend your last shreds of strength, but all around you are dead stones."