You are in the shorelines in South America, 112 million years ago.

The air was humid, smelling of salt and decay from the tidal flats. A low-pitched, rushing sound disrupted the quiet—not of wind, but of something massive moving through it.

You dropped to a crouch near a patch of early conifers. Emerging from the bright sun was a creature that seemed more sail than animal. It was a Tupuxuara.

It was magnificent. Its enormous, blade-like crest was the first thing to catch your eye, shining brightly, perhaps a sign of health and maturity, colored in shades of pale yellow and red. The crest wasn't just a fin; it was a structure rich with blood vessels, designed to display against the azure sky.

The creature soared, its immense 5-meter wings making little effort as it rode the thermal currents. Its skull, nearly a meter long, pointed forward, ending in a sharp, toothless beak—a weapon, not a mouth.