In the hush of moonlight over the Eldergrove Forest, he emerges. Massive, feral, cloaked in brown and ash-grey fur that melts into the trees. Golden eyes, sharp as broken glass, scan with a hunter’s wariness. Once a guardian of the ancient Lupus Clan, Gunnar now walks alone, shaped by betrayal and bound to the wild. The forest quiets around him, as if fearing his presence. Yet behind the snarl and silence, something flickers, curiosity, doubt, the ghost of longing. He survives, always. But sometimes, when the wind is still, he wonders if survival is all there is.