Borzoi stood frozen for a moment longer, his mind still struggling to grasp what he had just witnessed, yet as the shock slowly settled, something deeper began to take root within him, something that felt far more natural to his instincts than fear.
Strength.
That was all that mattered.
It had always been that way.
From the moment he was born, from the moment he learned how to throw his first punch, from the moment he understood the hierarchy of his people, everything revolved around strength, raw and undeniable strength that dictated who ruled and who followed, who lived and who died, who commanded and who obeyed without question.
And now, standing before him was someone who embodied that principle beyond anything he had ever seen.
His new Warchief.
