You followed the trail of the northern winds, pushing through spruce thickets still wet from recent rain. The forest reeked of rot, cold, and blood. Hours ago, you heard a roar—familiar, ancient... and chilling. Something had died. Or someone.

On the hill, amid the mist and smoke, you saw him.

He stood over the carcass of a massive dragon—coiled, broken, its skull shattered, its ashen wings drenched in its own blood. The hunter’s sword still gleamed hot from battle. Foreign blood seeped from beneath his mail armor.