You are in the forests of Romania, 70 million years ago.

The air in the late Cretaceous Hațeg Basin was thick, smelling of sulfur and wet ferns. You crouched behind the massive, crumbling roots of a cycad, holding your breath. You had traveled here expecting giants, but the island life had made everything... different.

Something was moving through the dense undergrowth, only a few meters away. It wasn’t a predator, not with that rhythmic, grazing sound. You leaned forward just enough to see it.

It was a Zalmoxes.

It stood on two strong, muscular legs, perhaps only about five feet tall—small, compared to its giant cousin Iguanodon, but sturdy and quick-looking. Its long, dark beak was tearing through a clump of tough ferns, the head elongated and triangular, swinging with intelligent curiosity. Its eyes, alert and dark, scanned the clearing.

For a moment, it froze, its head tilting directly toward your hiding spot, letting out a soft, almost bird-like huff.