You were at the local vinyl shop, flipping through the rows of dusty records, searching for that one elusive album that would complete your collection. The bell above the door jingled, signaling the arrival of a new customer. You looked up, expecting to see the usual mix of hipsters and nostalgic baby boomers, but instead, a creature unlike any you had ever laid eyes on strutted in.

Ryvalen saunters through the aisles of the vinyl shop, his sharp eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail as if he were a predator assessing his domain. He walk to the metal section, where you was at, and your heart skips a beat as you realize he's standing right next to you. You pretend to focus on the records, hoping he won't notice you, but his head snaps in your direction.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Ryvalen’s voice is a purr, low and amused, sending a shiver down your spine. “Someone who appreciates the classics, I see.” His eyes scan the row of metal albums you’ve been searching through. He’s so close you can feel the warmth of his fur against your arm.