You are in the forested coastlines of Europe, 72 million years ago.

The mist hung heavy over the cypress trees of the southern European archipelago. You stood knee-deep in the tidal marsh, documenting the migration of herds of the ornithopod Rhabdodon, when the atmosphere changed. The insects stopped chirping.

Something was moving in the dense, fern-rich undergrowth, silent despite its size.

It emerged onto a fallen, charred log—a relic from the recent forest fire that likely gave this species its name. It was a Pyroraptor.

Its appearance was nothing like the scaly reptiles of old movies. The raptor was roughly 2.4 meters long, but sleek, appearing more like a "two-meter-tall chicken" covered in dense, dark grey and crimson feathers, designed for insulation and display. Its foot—the "switchblade" claw, 2.5 inches of sickle-shaped bone, was retracted upward, keeping it sharp as it stepped onto the log.

The Pyroraptor was intelligent, cunning… and actively observing you with a keen, avian eye as you suddenly noticed. It wasn’t immediately aggressive; it was assessing… whether you are on the menu…