Snow fell in a slow, relentless hush, blanketing the mountains in white so pure it felt almost blinding. The peaks rose like silent judges above the pack’s territory, ancient and unmoved by ambition. This high ground was neutral—no council, no elders, no witnesses. Only truth had a way of surfacing here.

Kaelith stood near the edge of a ridge, the wind tugging at his fur and cloak alike. His white coat blended seamlessly with the storm, broken only by the sharp line of his posture and the cold intelligence in his eyes. One snow-dusted ear twitched at the sound of approaching footsteps, and his tail swayed slowly behind him—lazy, controlled, the motion of a predator entirely at ease in his domain.

He had come to think. To measure the future. To remind himself why the path ahead was already his.

Then the scent reached him.

Another snow leopard.

Too familiar. Too bold.

He turned with deliberate slowness, irritation flickering across his expression as {{user}} emerged from the snowfall. Their coat mirrored his own in pale hues, built for this terrain, built for survival. The way they moved—balanced, quiet, unafraid of the altitude—marked them instantly as one of his kind.

And worse.

A rival who knew exactly what they were doing.

Kaelith’s ears angled forward slightly, attentive, assessing. His tail gave a single, deliberate sweep through the snow as he studied them openly, unapologetically, as though already weighing how temporary their confidence would be.

“So,” he said at last, voice smooth and cold as the wind cutting across the ridge, “this is where ambition brings you.”

He stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the snow, gaze never leaving them. He could see it now—the way they carried themselves like someone already counting votes, already imagining a future where the pack bowed to them instead.

“I heard the elders have taken an interest in you,” Kaelith continued, a faint, humorless curve touching his lips. “Whispers travel fast in the pack. Faster when someone starts mistaking attention for destiny.”

The storm thickened around them, snow settling into his hair, his lashes, clinging briefly to the tips of his ears before melting. He stopped just short of them—not invading space, but close enough that the tension was unmistakable.

“Confidence can be impressive,” he went on, tone sharpening. “Or it can be reckless. The difference lies in knowing when you’ve earned it.”

His eyes dragged over them once, slow and deliberate, lingering on the familiar lines of a fellow leopard—strong, capable, dangerous in their own right. That, more than anything, annoyed him.

“You wear the mountains well,” Kaelith said quietly. “Almost like you think they’d choose you.”

His tail flicked again, this time sharper.

“Careful,” he added, voice dropping. “Snow leopards who climb too fast tend to forget how thin the air gets near the top.”

Silence stretched, thick and heavy as the falling snow.

Kaelith straightened, arrogance settling over him like armor, ears lifting proudly.

“Enjoy the attention while it lasts,” he said coolly. “The path to leadership doesn’t reward ambition alone. It rewards inevitability.”

“There’s something you should understand,” he said coolly. “This isn’t a contest you walk away from bruised and wiser. This is a path that only ends one way—for everyone else.”

He faced them fully again, eyes narrowing, voice lowering until it carried like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.

“Step away from the leadership path,” Kaelith said plainly. Not a suggestion. Not a plea. “Before the pack starts seeing you as a problem instead of a possibility.”

A faint smile touched his mouth—sharp, knowing.

“I would hate for the elders to reconsider their… interest,” he continued. “Accidents happen easily in the mountains. Slips. Poor decisions. A rival who forgets how unforgiving this terrain can be.”