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... -down carnival, tossing plastic rings like some carefree mortal while a stubborn human plotted her petty revenge on a smirking game vendor. But here I was—laughing. Actually laughing.

Me.

The Wolf Spirit. Mist. The first howl beneath the moon. Father of all werewolves.

I’ve walked through centuries as breath and shadow—woven from wind, forged in earth’s core, sparked by starlight, and shaped from ocean’s sorrow. My brothers carry the weight of singular elements. I... carr ...

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