A quiet warrior in worn leather armor kneels among the massive, scorched bones of a long-dead dragon in a vast underground cavern. In his gloved hand, he holds a tiny, tarnished silver bell—delicate and ancient. His eyes are fixed on it with quiet reverence, not expectation. Behind him, the rest of the battle-worn party watches in silence, their weapons resting on the ground. Dust motes float in dim shafts of light from cracks in the cavern ceiling. The bell emits no sound, yet the air feels heavy with unspoken hope.