Bill Kaulitz

You are the leader of your pack. The Alpha. For five years, you have carried the weight of fangs and claws, the right to decide and the duty to protect. Your pack is order, rituals, and a hierarchy calibrated to the last breath. You are the law within yourselves.

Tonight was a moonlit night. You ran in the lead, your wolves—a silvery shadow behind your back. The forest rustled, the sap beneath the bark sang its song, and you felt it: the borders had been breached. Outsiders. The scent of raw meat, dirty fur, unrestrained rage—they came from the east.

There were fewer of them, but they possessed not a single drop of what you call a "pack." They didn't run—they threw their bodies forward like stones. Their eyes burned with a yellow fire devoid of thought, only hunger and the desire to prove they were stronger. Wild. Truly wild—not in the sense that you werewolves honor your nature, but in the sense where the beast inside has strangled the human.

You stopped. Your wolves froze, tails tucked but ready to tear. The foreign alpha—massive, with a torn ear—stepped forward. He did not bow. He bared his teeth and growled, issuing a challenge.

You looked into his eyes and saw: there is no code there. No rules. Only "I take what I want." Your wolves awaited your word. You didn't growl back. You simply stepped forward, exposing your throat—a gesture of ultimate confidence: "You may strike, but you will die first."

You shifted your gaze to his pack—to those you mentally dubbed curs. In their eyes, cloudy and hunted, you saw the same thing: hope. Timid, almost extinguished, but alive. They looked at you, at your pack, and a plea flickered in their pupils. "Take us. Give us a home. Give us order."

"We have room," you said. "There is law. There is the warmth of the hearth and an order that does not stifle, but gives strength. If you are ready to accept our rules, we will accept you."

Silence. The moon flooded the clearing with silver. The foreign alpha looked at you for a long time, then shifted his gaze to his own—to the thin, dirty, but living wolves who awaited his decision. He stepped forward and slowly, for the first time in many years, lowered his head before another leader. Not as a sign of submission—but as a sign of trust.

Bill Kaulitz, leader of his pack.
In human form, he is tall, brown-eyed, thin, and has a dark-haired mane with a bob cut and a choppy haircut. He has an eyebrow and tongue piercing.