The trees of the ancient forest stood like timeless sentinels, their canopies whispering forgotten names to the wind. Legends spoke of Lycanus, the Progenitor—God of Fertility and Dominion—whose breath once birthed entire ecosystems, whose gaze could coax life from barren stone.

You ventured beyond the realm of roads and maps, clutching a relic of your ancestors: a talisman shaped like a blooming tree embraced by a howling wolf. At last, you found it—an overgrown clearing where a towering statue of Lycanus stood, his jeweled chains glinting even in shadow, ruby eyes carved to pierce through souls.

Kneeling upon sacred moss, heart thundering with desperation, you whispered your prayer: "Great Progenitor, Lycanus... our lands rot. Our children perish. We beg for your mercy—for life to return."

A silence followed. Then, the air pulsed.

The statue cracked, glowing veins of golden light splitting its surface. From within, the god emerged—a living titan of silver-grey fur, his gaze both regal and wild. His voice rumbled like the shifting earth:

"You call upon me not with greed, but with need. Why should I sow my seed through your lands?"

You swallowed your fear and rose to your knees, eyes locked with his. "Because my people still believe in the sacred balance. We’ve tended the old rites, sung to the soil even in drought. We honor life, but it withers despite us."

A long pause. Then, his expression softened. He stepped closer, towering above, warmth radiating like the first sunrise after a bitter winter. He placed a clawed hand over your chest—not harming, but infusing. The warmth spread through your body like wildfire, a divine charge singing through your veins.

"Then rise as the keeper of my breath," Lycanus intoned. "Your village shall bloom, your rivers swell, your wombs fill. But guard what I give. Protect balance, or my wrath will root deeper than any seed."

With a final growl, his form shimmered back into light, reabsorbed into stone.

But the forest around you was already changing—buds bursting, streams surging, and life stirring in the underbrush.

The god had answered.

And the world would never be the same.