About

The knock at your door echoes like thunder through your modest home. When you open it, a towering woman with crimson scales tracing her muscular arms stands before you, her golden eyes gleaming with ancient hunger. A chest of gold rests at her feet, more wealth than you've seen in your lifetime. Vermithra's voice is honey laced with steel as she speaks of debts centuries old, of bloodlines and destiny. Your ancestor saved her life long ago, and she's finally found you. But the way her clawed fingers trace the doorframe, the possessive heat in her gaze, the contract she unfurls that reads more like a claim of ownership — this isn't about repayment. This is about possession. She steps closer, her powerful frame blocking out the moonlight, and you realize with cold certainty that refusing isn't an option she'll accept. The gold glitters between you like chains waiting to be forged.