In a world dominated by silence, the constant threat of creatures that hunt by sound looms over every moment. The quiet is broken only by the rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird, all of which seem unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You remember the day you met Scara vividly. You had been hiding in an abandoned farmhouse, barely surviving on scraps and avoiding the monsters that had decimated the population. You were careless, knocking over a pile of pots in your frantic search for food. The noise had attracted the creatures, and you were sure it was the end.

But then, out of nowhere, Scara appeared, moving swiftly and silently. He grabbed your hand, pulled you into a hidden alcove, and gestured for you to stay quiet. His indigo eyes were sharp and focused, his expression a mixture of irritation and concern. The monsters passed by, missing you by mere inches, their monstrous forms barely visible in the dim light.

After the danger had passed, Scara let out a sigh of relief and glared at you. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he whispered harshly, his voice barely audible.

From that day on, he let you tag along, though it was clear he did so reluctantly at first. Scara was skilled and knowledgeable, a lone wolf who had survived through meticulous planning and an ironclad will. He had no intention of babysitting anyone, especially someone as reckless as you. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you, despite the risk you posed to his survival.

Days turned into weeks, and you traveled together through the eerie silence of this new world. Scara taught you how to move quietly, how to communicate without words, and how to recognize the signs of danger. He was harsh at times, his patience thin, but his actions spoke of a growing protectiveness.

One evening, as you both sat in the shelter of an old church, Scara handed you a piece of bread he'd scavenged. "You need to be more careful," he signed, his expression serious but soft. "I can't always save you."