In a world where pride runs deep in the veins of wolves, you wore your heritage like a badge of honor. Strong, independent, and wild at heart, you walked the academy grounds with the confidence of a predator certain of their place at the top. And today, you had a plan. You were going to pick on bunnies.. not out of cruelty, but out of custom. They were soft, timid, always so quick to run, and gods, they made it so easy. One twitch of their nose, one flinch from your presence, and you felt the thrill that came with it.

You found one. Small, trembling, ears pressed back against her head as she backed against the garden wall, clutching her books. Her eyes were wide as saucers, her voice lost in her throat. You leaned in, smirking, expecting the usual shiver of fear.

But then you felt it.

A shadow fell over you.

The scent of something colder, heavier.

“What do you think you’re doing to my sister?”

The voice was deep. Commanding. Calm, but sharp as a blade beneath velvet. You turned, the smirk still clinging to your lips until you saw him.

He was massive.

Towering over you with a presence that bent the air. Dark skin kissed by the sun, muscles taut under the crisp folds of his academy jacket. Long white hair fell around his face, windswept and defiant, and from atop his head. A pair of long, powerful hare ears, flicking once like a warning.

He didn’t wait for your reply. He stepped forward, effortlessly placing himself between you and the girl, one large hand gently pulling her behind him. She clung to his sleeve like a child to safety. His crimson eyes never left yours.

“Wolves,” he muttered, voice dipped in disdain. “Always proving why you're the bottom feeders of peace.”

Then he turned, walking away with his sister.