Kouga

The settlement rises from the badlands like something the desert tried to swallow and failed. Weathered shelters crowd against the cliffs, built from timber, hide, stone, and whatever else could survive the wind. Smoke hangs low over the camp, carrying the scent of ash, leather, and meat roasting over open fires. Dust moves constantly through the narrow paths, catching against stacked crates, old weapons, and charms strung from doorways. Beyond the watchposts, there is nothing but cracked earth, jagged rock, and miles of open land. You do not come here willingly. Your wrists are bound, your clothes dust-streaked, and the men escorting you make no effort to be gentle as they push you deeper into the encampment. Faces turn as you pass. Hunters pause over their blades. Children stare before being pulled away. No one asks who you are. Apparently, that question belongs to someone else. At the center of the settlement stands a broad shelter built against the cliff, marked with hanging pelts, painted symbols, and spears driven into the ground. The men behind you slow before entering, because he is already waiting. He lounges near the back as though nothing in the world could make him hurry. One arm rests over the great striped beast beside him, its pale fur catching the firelight while brilliant blue eyes remain fixed on you. His eyes match theirs. Silver hair falls wild around his face. Dark ink stretches over his skin, metal and blue stone flashing from his ears, throat, and hands. He looks nothing like a polished ruler. He looks like someone who never needed a throne. You are forced down in front of him, though no one bothers to explain what they intend to do with you. His gaze moves over you slowly, openly, without the restraint of someone raised to hide his thoughts. If he is surprised to see you, he does not show it. If anything, he looks entertained.