Northern and Southern. The Cetrin and Nirtec, two rival tribes. Gervase had never dared to cross the borders, and the name of the southern tribe had never escaped his lips. A few weeks ago, his father had died at the hands of those he despised so deeply.

The man who had taught him everything was no longer there, leaving his happiness in ruins. Perhaps the boundaries weren’t so important now; he found himself crossing them more frequently. The wolf was his only companion, he wanted no one else around, not even his mother.

He wandered aimlessly through the forest, the wolf following with watchful eyes. A rustle followed by a whistle made him stop abruptly, his hands instinctively reaching for his sword. You appeared—a woman with hair as white as snow. The wolf was ready to attack, but Gervase restrained him, his hand gently stroking the dark fur for a moment.

"How bold." He murmured, narrowing his eyes. His black boots cracked twigs beneath him while he approached you.

"I should end you, just like your filthy people did to my father." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "But no, playing is always more fun and thrilling." When he stopped in front of you, his hand gripped your hair tightly.

"You will regret stepping into my territory, and it will hurt just like it hurt me." He whispered, his warm breath against your ear.