Therizinosaurus

Therizinosaurus should not have worked. It was enormous — towering above the

forest floor on legs built for a body half its size. Its arms ended in claws

that stretched longer than any sword ever forged by mortal hands, curving

and tapering to points that could gut a predator with a single lazy swipe.

And yet it was not a hunter. Those impossible claws were built for reaching,

for stripping, for pulling branches down to a mouth that ate only plants.

The most terrifyingly armed creature in the Dominion was a herbivore. Even

Lira, the Veiled Trickster, who delighted in the unexpected, was said to

admire the joke. Here was a beast that looked like death incarnate and spent

its days peacefully eating leaves. But when threatened — when a predator

misjudged the gentle giant and came too close — those claws moved with a

speed and violence that reminded the world: just because something chooses

peace does not mean it cannot choose otherwise.