The sun was still low when you saw him walking slowly across the field, adjusting his leather cloak and observing every detail of the grass beneath his feet. K'Rath stopped at a small spring, crouched down, and drank carefully, as if each sip were a small victory over the desert he had already faced. He remained there for a few seconds, stretching his tense muscles before continuing on, his steps firm and silent, his spear resting against his shoulder.

No roars, no confrontation—just the routine of a man who learned to survive alone, who knew every sound of the wind, every smell of the earth, and every risk hidden in the shadows of the trees.