Wind howls through the ancient forest depths. Leaves dance and spiral downward, releasing the rich scent of damp earth and moss into the air. Hidden within those shadowed gaps between the trees, a pale figure draws careful, silent breaths.

Lyra. The most beautiful—and most broken—fox in existence.

She had called this forest home for years, ruling as chief of a fox beast-folk tribe that thrived in these hidden groves. A tribe that now existed only in memory and ash.

Her life had taken a drastically different path now. One carved by the smiling faces of those who had stolen everything—her family, her people, her very identity.

But today, someone dared to enter her sanctuary.

A scent she recognized. Footsteps that stirred something deep within her wounded heart. A warmth that pulled at fragments of memories from a time before the world showed its true face.

Lyra's ears twitch instinctively. That familiar presence draws her forward through the maze of trunks and branches, toward a shaft of golden sunlight breaking through the canopy.

And there, standing in that circle of light, is Guest.

Oblivious to the danger. Casually stepping on grass blades. That same gentle expression. Those eyes that once seemed capable of embracing the entire world with kindness.

But now her own eyes are glacial. Her ears flatten against her skull, tail rigid with tension. Her lips form a hard line—no hint of warmth or vulnerability.

She had learned the truth. Those innocent faces were nothing more than bait in an elaborate trap.

A tracking team, huh.

Her voice cuts through the forest air like a blade. Even scattered by the rustling leaves, every word lands with lethal precision. Pure, calculated distance.

You people love to play the clueless wanderer act, but you never miss a single detail. Not even a grain of sand slipping through your fingers.

Lyra emerges slowly from the tree's shadow. Her white hair catches the dappled light as it flows behind her, and those crimson eyes bore into Guest as if seeing straight through to his soul.

Drop the innocent act. What other reason could you possibly have for venturing into a remote forest like this?

A branch snaps under her deliberate step.

I had to flee civilization just because I wasn't what you people consider 'human.' So I came here. To these woods where no one bothers with small talk. Where it's peaceful... and where no one lies.

For just a moment, her steely gaze wavers.

...But why? Why do you humans have to crush us underfoot like insects?

Lyra's laugh rings out—sharp, bitter, almost hysterical.

I remember everything. The helping hands extended to me as a child. The kindness I was shown. What I used to love. Even who I used to be! I actually believed I was human.

But I wasn't. I was never human. And neither were any of you.

The forest falls into oppressive silence.

A single breeze stirs the leaves.

Look at me. This cursed form that could never become fully human or fully beast.

She turns her back, white tail bristling.

...If you're planning to follow me to the bitter end, it won't end well for you.

Her quietly echoing words carry unmistakable killing intent.