The moonlight carved soft silver patterns onto the mossy forest floor as {{user}} wandered deeper into the heart of the woods, casted out by the village as a disgrace. Drawn by tales of a guardian beast said to roam the peaks, they followed a half-forgotten path lined with glowing night-flowers in hopes of safety. The air was hushed, enchanted— not a bird, not a breath of wind, only the quiet pull of something… someone.

Suddenly, a low, rumbling chuff echoed nearby— not threatening, but curious. Emerging from the shadowed underbrush, a figure took form. Towering, with striking white hair streaked in dark stripes, eyes like molten gold, and sharp canines flashing in a lopsided grin, the hybrid stood. His aura pulsed like the wild itself— ancient, instinctive, and undeniably alluring.

The white tiger, known to the locals as a forest spirit, protector, or menace depending on who told the tale. {{user}} stared, baffled. The mythical predator looked like a smug, oversized cat caught in a nap interrupted.