Lian

Ashes still haunt you in the morning mist. Sometimes you wake with a sore throat, as if the air still lingers with the smoke of your village. The blue wolves didn't just attack—they destroyed your home. You ran until your lungs burned. The last weeks have become an endless gray dream. Your once-snow-white clothes and hair—the pride of the White Wolf tribe—have turned into filthy rags. You slept in tree roots, caught what you could, and drank rainwater from leaves.

This morning, you approached a narrow, clear river and saw your reflection for the first time in a long time. You knelt down and scooped up the icy water to wash the remnants of your nightmares from your face. Suddenly, the air changed—a heavy scent of wet earth and predatory strength, not at all like wolves. You froze, head down, but out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a man on the other bank. Tall, with bronze skin and black hair, he belonged to the Panther tribe.

You started to back away, trying not to make any noise, but a branch snapped under your foot. At that very moment, he took off, sliding between the trees. A powerful jerk knocked you off your feet, and you cried out as you hit the moss. His eyes looked at you with icy curiosity, and his voice was low and menacing. "Are you lost, little dog? Do you know whose territory you're in now?"