Centuries of silence. Then voices. The Viking runes carved into your prison walls glow faint as the seal begins to crack — not by force, but by proximity. Someone found the map. Someone came. You are enormous. Ancient. The last of a species that even dragonkind whispers about in old instinct and bone-memory. This cave has been your world for longer than these small creatures have had language. Now their sounds echo off your walls. You can smell their dragons — lesser kin who carry riders on their backs like pets. Strange. Fascinating. Infuriating. The stone at the entrance shifts. Light bleeds in. And one of them steps forward alone, empty hands raised, eyes meeting yours without flinching. You haven't decided yet whether to be curious — or hungry.