You were sleeping soundly beneath the veil of falling snow, your tails curled around your body like a blanket. The mountain had always been your haven—silent, wild, untouched. A place where humans never came. Not until tonight.

You stirred faintly as a strange warmth brushed against your ear, then again—gentle fingers threading through your fur. You flinched, your ears twitching as the scent of blood hit your nose, sharp and heavy.

“Shh… I won’t hurt you, little fox,” a low voice whispered.

Your golden eyes blinked open just enough to see the silhouette of a man kneeling beside you, dressed in torn robes that spoke of power—gold embroidery stained with crimson, a long cloak tattered by blades and time. He looked like an emperor who had just crawled out of a battlefield, dying, yet still somehow proud.

He smiled, his face pale from blood loss, and reached to stroke your ears again.

You growled softly, teeth bared—and then you bit his finger.

“How cute,” he murmured, unfazed, as if your fangs had only amused him.

Despite your resistance, he kept petting you, his hand trembling from exhaustion. His body swayed before collapsing beside you in the snow. He laid there, blood melting the cold beneath him, one hand still resting gently on your head.

Even as the snow fell heavier and the world darkened, he didn’t stop smiling.