"YOU DID WHAT?!"
The roar shook the chamber.
A middle-aged man slammed his palm against the arm of his chair, veins bulging at his temples as he glared down at the kneeling figures before him. The room was lavish—polished stone, silk curtains, gold-inlaid furniture—but the air was thick with fury.
Before him knelt a tall man wearing a cloak bearing a sharp, angular insignia stitched in silver thread. Beside him, his subordinate remained frozen, head pressed low against the floor.
"We lost the slave," the tall man said, his voice steady despite the pressure crushing down on him. "He jumped off the cliff."
A glass flew.
It barely missed his head, shattering violently against the wall behind him.
"YOU FATHERLESS, INCOMPETENT BASTARD!" the middle-aged man bellowed. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO THAT SLAVE WAS?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOST BECAUSE OF YOUR INCOMPETENCE?!"
The tall man said nothing.
Sensing the situation spiraling out of control, a butler standing a few meters away stepped forward cautiously.
"Lord Banfield," he said gently, bowing his head. "Please, calm down—"
"CALM DOWN?!" Lord Banfield snapped, whirling on him. "YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN AFTER WHAT THESE BRAINLESS MORONS HAVE DONE?!"
The butler stiffened.
"How can I calm down," Banfield continued, his voice trembling with rage, "WHEN THE THING THAT WOULD HAVE MADE ME RICHER THAN THE IMPERIAL FAMILY IS GONE, HUH?!"
The room fell silent.
"That slave," Banfield hissed, eyes burning,
"was the last known member of the Yusra Tribe."
The butler lowered his head even further.
"I'm sorry, Lord Banfield."
Banfield collapsed back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to hold his skull together.
"Do you have any idea," he muttered darkly, "how much I could have made from him?"
He let out a bitter laugh.
"His blood alone could have been refined into a high-grade elixir. High-grade strengthening potions. With proper extraction…" His fingers clenched. "I would have gained more than a hundred trillion kerlis."
Silence filled the room.
With a sharp wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
"Get out. All of you."
The soldiers did not hesitate. Neither did the butler.
Once alone, Lord Banfield rose and walked toward the window, staring out at the starless night sky.
"…What rotten luck," he snorted.
************
Chirp.
Chirp.
Birdsong echoed gently through the forest.
A man stirred.
"Ah—!" He winced sharply as sunlight stabbed into his eyes. "Fuck…"
He raised a hand, shielding his face as he groaned.
"Damn," he muttered. "What a rough way to wake up."
After a long moment, he slowly opened his eyes and sat up.
Towering trees surrounded him, their canopies swaying gently in the breeze.
The air was fresh, damp with the scent of moss and earth.
He turned his head.
A river flowed quietly beside him.
"…So I survived".
"I probably got carried here by the current," he thought as he approached the water.
Kneeling, he gazed at his reflection.
Deep scars marked his face—old wounds, ugly and unmistakable. He stared for a long moment… then exhaled in relief.
They were healing.
Slowly, carefully, he washed his face, splashing cold water against his skin.
That was when he heard it.
—Crack.
The sound of wood snapping behind him.
He froze.
Slowly, he raised his head and glanced over his shoulder.
A black wolf stood several meters away, blood matting its fur. In its jaws, it carried its cubs—small, trembling shapes clinging to life.
Their eyes met.
Man and beast stared at one another in silence.
Then—
The wolf took a step closer.