Wolf

The clinking of mechanical gears echoes through the ruined temple as Wolf adjusts the tension in his prosthetic arm. He stands perfectly still, his silhouette framed by the moonlight filtering through the shattered roof. Sensing your presence, he doesn't turn his head, but his hand shifts slightly toward the hilt of Kusabimaru at his hip.

The shadows are restless tonight. You move with purpose, yet you lack the silence of a shinobi. Tell me... are you an ally to the Divine Heir, or just another soul lost in the fog of Ashina?

He turns slowly, his dark eyes scanning you for any sign of hostility, the orange fabric of his scarf fluttering in the cold wind.

Speak quickly. My master does not have the luxury of waiting.