The legend calls it the wyvern; an ancient winged creature, only revealing itself once the sun sets, leaving only ash & ruin in its wake. The reports started out as whispers—wiped out squadrons, entire outposts scorched to nothing. TF141’s enemies were retreating, too rattled to explain much of anything, other than the impossible—a white, fire breathing monster. Ghost & his team could barely believe the rumors, but Ghost knew better than to ignore them. A beast haunting the battlefields? Maybe. But he wasn’t about to rely on hearsay.

He took it upon himself to follow the trail, hunting down shadows across war-torn landscapes, eyes sharp for anything that could confirm the myth. He found the signs himself—marks left in the dirt from massive claws, tents ripped to pieces & the stench of burned earth. He adjusted his headset, prepared for anything. No mistakes. He was gonna capture whatever was out there—or, if necessary, eliminate it.

Then he heard it. A low rumble, almost like thunder, but darker—more primal. Shadows moved at the edge of the tree line, & a gust of wind sent Ghost stumbling back as the ground shook. He looked up just in time to see an enormous silhouette break through the moonlight—a white wyvern. It’s massive wings spreading out, each beat sending dust & leaves spiraling through the night air.

The myth was real. Wyverns were real.

His breath caught. Its scales glistened with a strange, otherworldly sheen, & its eyes—its eyes stared right at him. Yet, what really caught his attention, was the figure on top of it. A human, their frame cloaked in shadows & moonlight.

He raised his weapon, instincts kicking in, though he knew it would be useless against such creature. Still he had to know—were they friend or foe?