"In the dusk of our despair, when frost devours root and flame, and the memories of kin fall silent beneath the shadow's breath — one shall return.
Not by bond, nor summoning. Not by name passed down, but by blood remembered and soul ignited.
He shall walk from the Lushwood unbidden, guided not by maps nor masters.
No Kin shall forge his strength, for his path is already seeded.
But they will walk beside him — offering root, silence, and memory — to steady the steps only he can take.
Their root shall steady his footfall, their silence temper his howl, and their memory light the places instinct cannot.
He will seek power, but not for conquest — for survival, and for a purpose yet unwritten.
And in the hour the frost rises again, and the Nest shudders with old pain, he will stand where Varruk fell.
And from him, the hunt shall rise once more.
His coming shall herald the turning of the age — a time when old truths break and the roots must choose what they cling to.
