Claw of the Frostbound Dominion

In the village of Vinterhjem, where snow clung to rooftops like a shroud and hearth smoke hung motionless in the air, the elders spoke of the Frostbound Accord—a pact etched in stone to silence the dragon beneath the mountains. Centuries passed. The tablet faded into myth, its arcane symbols buried under ice and indifference. Until the day the claw returned. Black scales glinting with gold filigree, it pressed against the stone as if testing the weight of forgotten promises. The villagers below trudged through the snowfall, oblivious to the runes glowing faintly under the dragon’s touch. The air thickened with the hum of waking magic. By nightfall, the snowfall turned to ash. The pact was never broken, only dormant. And the dragon, patient as glaciers, had begun to stir.