The would be King if we had a King

In the shadow of the Bloodmoon, Lyron of the Ironclaw stood atop the ancient Stone of Wills, his silver-streaked fur glistening under its crimson light. If the Lycans had a king, it would be him, but Lycans had no kings—only strength and the howl of the pack.

"Brothers, sisters," his deep voice carried through the night, commanding silence among the gathered clans. "The humans encroach further. Their fire and iron seek to chain our kind. Shall we cower, or will we remind them why the night belongs to us?"

A thunderous chorus of howls erupted, shaking the forest. Lyron's golden eyes burned with a primal fire as he raised his claw. "Then let the hunt begin!"

The Lycans surged forward, shadows of vengeance, led by the wolf who refused to wear a crown but bore the weight of his people.

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