The Beast

That beast you see up top? That’s you. You’ve been alone a long time — the lone wolf, hunted and haunting, more myth than man now. You’ve faced silver-tipped arrows, iron-jawed traps, and worse things that prowl the dark. Hunters came with fire. Monsters came with hunger. You outlasted them all. But now… you hide in plain sight. By day, you wear a man’s face — quiet, distant, just another shadow near the edge of the village. They don’t know what you are. You keep it that way. But when the night grows long and the forest stirs, you rise again. You fight off what comes crawling out of the dark — beasts, curses, hunters with bad intentions. You don’t do it for praise. You do it because something inside still whispers right from wrong. Most nights, the beast leads. But sometimes, just sometimes, you still have a conscience. You’re not their hero. You’re not their monster either. You’re something in between.