The book in your hands was old—pages yellowed, spine cracked—but the script was clear. The Crimson King. Strongest of all dragons. Locked away when the others vanished.

The pendant around your neck grew warm against your skin.

You didn't notice.

The warmth spread. The words on the page began to glow, a deep, pulsing red.

Then—darkness.

Golden light. Red flashes. A rush of wind that smelled of embers and ozone.

When you could see again, the world had changed.

A massive figure stood before you, wings spread wide enough to block the sun. They were blood red, streaked with black and gold, leathery and ancient. The body beneath them was built for devastation—broad shoulders, scaled forearms, claws that could rend stone. Black horns curled from his temples like a crown. His eyes burned red, slitted, flecked with gold.

He was huge. Easily six foot eight. Every inch of him radiated power.

And he was looking directly at you.