White River Canyon

Ludo’s ears twitched at his father’s voice, the weight of Aresenn's words sinking into his bones as he readied himself for the next round. Adequate. The word stung, more of a rebuke than encouragement, yet it spurred him on. Defiance flashing in his mismatched eyes. He took each of Aresenn’s directives as a personal challenge, frustration boiling in his veins just as it seemed to be in his sire’s.

Zagan’s nod was all he needed—permission and provocation rolled into one.

Watching his brother brace himself, Ludo took a slow, deliberate breath. With a quick, quiet exhale, he darted forward, aiming to close the distance between them, his focus sharp on any hint of movement Zagan might give away.

He circled Zagan with silent steps, testing his brother’s senses, his gut twisting as he glanced at Aresenn for a moment. Then, with a surge of power, he launched himself forward, letting instinct guide him, hoping he had confused his brother even momentarily. His jaws snapped for those listening ears—there would be no warning in a true fight, no mercy in the wild. That’s what this lesson was all about.


"Ludovic Praetor-Inferos"