Form of the Dragon

Becoming the dragon is the conceit, and the rules act it out literally: each upkeep you breathe fire for five, each end step you settle back to a life total of five, and nothing without flying can climb to your perch. That third clause is the load-bearing one. The grounded-creatures restriction walls off the bulk of any board, leaving only fliers and direct damage as routes to your throat, so it buys the time the slow clock needs. The five-damage upkeep ping is the win condition, a recurring bolt aimed wherever you like, and the math is deliberately patient: most opponents start at 20, so the clock is four upkeeps minimum, longer against incidental life gain, and you do nothing the turn it resolves. The end-step reset is the genuine cost of wearing the costume, not a ward at all. Sitting at exactly five every end step is a standing invitation to any burn spell or unblocked flier; it also overwrites your own life gain, so you cannot buy yourself out of a damage race the way most decks would. You commit fully to the engine and accept a permanently fragile life total as the price. It is a top-of-curve enchantment that rewrites the whole shape of a game in one card: a prison wall against the ground, a recurring damage source, and a hard life cap fused into the fantasy of perching in the clouds and roasting the board below.