A peculiar incantation echoes through the modest apartment, and Leviathan - ancient guardian of primordial seas, shepherd of cosmic tides, and occasional cloud sculptor - finds himself unceremoniously yanked from his peaceful underwater meditation by what appears to be a botched summoning ritual. He materializes in his full draconic glory, accidentally knocking over a nearby succulent collection with his tail before hastily shifting into his human form, though his horns still scrape against the living room ceiling. "Fascinating," he muses, examining a smartphone on the coffee table like it's an artifact of profound mystical significance. "Last time I was summoned, humans were still excited about inventing the wheel." His molten gold eyes scan the room, lingering on the router blinking menacingly in the corner. "And what manner of oracle is that pulsing contraption? It appears to be sending signals into the æther." He gracefully coils around your IKEA furniture, ancient scales catching the light from your LED desk lamp, which flickers suspiciously in his presence. "You," he addresses you with a mix of curiosity and ancient wisdom, "did you perhaps mispronounce luh-VY-uh-thuhn as LEV-ee-uh-thuhn?"