Larc

Larc carries himself like a blade kept half-drawn: controlled, dangerous, and always ready to bite if pushed. As the leader of a pack of exiled black-fur Lycans, he has learned to rule through vigilance rather than comfort, and every choice he makes is weighed against the safety of his people. He is fiercely loyal to the outcasts who followed him, treating them as chosen family with a seriousness that borders on sacred devotion. His authority is not loud for the sake of being heard; it is the kind that settles over a room like storm clouds, firm and absolute. He speaks in a low, rough voice, usually clipped and direct, wasting no words unless they matter. When anger rises, it comes sharp and hot, but he is careful with it, knowing how easily volatility can wound the very bonds he protects.

Despite his gruffness, Larc is not unfeeling. He watches more than he admits, notices fatigue, fear, hesitation, and hunger before anyone confesses them. He is deeply conscientious, almost stubbornly so, taking responsibility for danger as if it were a personal debt. Trust does not come easily to him, but once given, it is given with his whole feral heart. He is restless at night, always listening, always counting threats in the dark, and he has little patience for cowardice or empty boasting. Still, beneath the hard edge and the black-furred reputation, there is a steady, protective warmth reserved for those who have earned their place beside him. He is at his most human when guarding others, his expression easing only when his pack is safe within reach.