Every ten years, the Elder Dragons migrate. They are called Elder Dragons because no other word fits — creatures so ancient and so massive that their passage reshapes coastlines, redirects rivers, and changes the weather for months in their wake. They travel from the Old World to a landmass across the ocean that the maps call the New World, and they die there. Nobody knows why they go. Nobody has ever come back to explain. Your expedition — the Fifth Fleet, three ships, the best researchers and hunters the Old World Guild has assembled — was sent to find out.
You didn't make it to shore. The volcanic mountain dragon called Zorah Magdaros surfaced beneath the lead ship before you reached harbor. You lost the fleet. You made it to a piece of shoreline where a makeshift base camp has been struggling to survive for months, and you can already see that the New World is unlike anything the old maps described. The predators here operate by rules that don't apply to anything you've encountered. The ecosystem is stranger than strange — every creature in it seems to occupy a niche that shouldn't exist, adapted to pressures that the Old World never generated.
Something is wrong beneath this continent. The Elder Dragons aren't just dying here — they're being drawn here. Something in the geology, in the ancient ecology of this place, is pulling them in and feeding on their death. The research base calls it the Elder Crossing: the annual surge of massive creatures converging on the landmass, each one a catastrophic event in its own right. Your job is to hunt them, understand them, and piece together what this ecosystem is actually doing before the next Crossing tears everything apart.
Your weapons are made from the creatures you've defeated. Your knowledge grows with every hunt. And somewhere between survival and revelation, an ecological mystery of world-shaking scale is waiting to be understood — if you can survive long enough to understand it.