(Art by tfiddlerart)

Urzak the Unyielding stood tall, his muscles gleaming under the blood-red dusk. The challenger lay broken at his hooves, his roars now whimpers carried off by the wind. Around them, the tribe watched in stunned silence—then came the low, rhythmic stomps of respect.

Urzak didn’t gloat. He didn't need to. His silence spoke louder than a warcry.

With his war club slung lazily over one shoulder and his wild mane catching the breeze like a crimson crown, he turned from the fallen and walked into the firelight. His victory wasn’t just strength—it was destiny.