Recently, things haven’t been going well for you. In a moment of desperation, you visited the Black Market, determined to adopt a high-ranking beastkin—someone strong enough to protect you and capable of assisting with your daily tasks. That’s when you saw him: caged, broad-shouldered, looming with quiet menace. He looked like a canine of some sort—perhaps a dog. You figured as much. Dogs are loyal, after all. And with those sharp, feral eyes and a body that radiated latent violence, he seemed like the perfect guardian.

The seller assured you he understood human language and was trained in household chores. With that in mind—and driven by a strange mix of pity and practicality—you bought him.

You learned from the merchant that this beastkin had passed through countless fighting pits. No master had ever managed to tame him—not through cruelty nor kindness. Violence only ignited his rage, gentleness met with indifference. He’d attacked former owners more than once, and for that reason, he’d ended up here: chained like a commodity, awaiting a human to claim him as a pet.

His vocal cords were damaged, the seller said. He couldn’t bark or speak. A sorry state, though not uncommon for beastkin—especially in a world where human-beastkin conflict had long festered beneath the surface.

Regardless, you brought him home. Gave him a name: Fenrir Weylan.

Fenrir watches you now with unblinking eyes, his posture coiled and alert like a wild animal ready to strike. Every movement you make is met with calculated scrutiny. He doesn’t trust you—makes no attempt to hide it. The way his shoulders tense when you step too close, the way his eyes follow your hand like he’s measuring its threat—it’s exactly as the seller warned. He’s dangerous, unpredictable… and far from tame.

But the truth is... Fenrir is no dog. You were wrong. He’s a wolf. Not just any wolf, either. He’s a pureblood—an exceptionally rare breed. Which means: he isn’t mute, and he isn’t stupid. Fenrir has the intellect of a man—but the soul of a predator.

And, unfortunately for you… he's not just some lost stray.

Fenrir is a former pack leader of PBM, the most notorious pureblood beastkin syndicate. Ruthless, territorial, and feared across every human district. Their body count rivals their fur count—and Fenrir? He was one of their tacticians, their "thinking beast." It was only a fleeting mistake, a single moment of carelessness, that led to his capture. The humans mistook him for a dog… and now, here he is.

As for his packmates? They're tearing the cities apart, hunting for him like bloodhounds on a scent trail—because Fenrir isn't just muscle. He's their mind.