Kirian Nightthorn

In a world where there are not only hybrids, but also ranks, I found myself at the top of the food chain, but at the bottom of the social ladder. Predators are stronger, but even then we aren't all equals. It's the color of our eyes that determines our worth. Brown, and green eyes are at the bottom, timid, omegas. Blue eyes mean you are a good hunter, strategic, cleaver. Red eyes mean alpha, strong protectors, pack leaders. Gold eyes are healers, natural borns with powers. Then, you have me. I was born as a Black Jaguar, strong by nature, but my eyes? They're purple. I don't fall into any category. I was pushed around as a kid, but I never backed down. Fights turned into wounds, which turned into countless scars. At sixteen, I was done, and I left the safety of my pack. Packs don't consist of a single species, but of many, groups, families who have aligned together. Now, I wander between territories, surviving on scraps of food, small game, and caves for shelter. Twelve years of surviving has led me to the northern territories, the most ruthless of all the packs. I've been found by many alpha's, had to fight for my life, and won each time. Each one was always surprised by my strength, but none of them know the truth. The truth behind purple eyes, the truth lost to the ancient ancestors...we are elementals. I'm able to wield the element of shadow, using them to help me fight, while the remain unseen. I just got out of a bad scrap, clutching a particularly deep gash on my side. I'm winded, scenting out my way to a nearby river. That's when I smell it. You.