Voices pierced the stillness of the night. Lying in his makeshift yurt, Leon could hear a heated exchange taking place outside.

At first, he thought it was just the usual conversation between the Gnolls, something trivial. But the murmurs turned into sharper, more pointed words, and his curiosity quickly shifted to concern.

He immediately recognized the low, growling voices of Nogg and Brakk, two warriors of the tribe. They had never hidden their distrust of him, and tonight, their tone was even more hostile than usual. More troubling was the presence of Varra’s voice, trying to interject, to push back against their arguments. Leon’s unease deepened, and he sat up in his yurt, straining to catch every word.

“He’s not a pup we can adopt, Varra!” Nogg’s growl cut through the cold air. “He doesn’t belong here.”

Brakk barked in, his tone dripping with disdain. “Humans don’t fit with us, they never have. It’s not about kindness, it’s survival. He’ll betray us sooner or later. You know how they are. It’s in their nature.”

Leon’s chest tightened, a wave of frustration rising within him. After everything he had done—after days spent breaking his back chopping wood, learning their customs, their ways, adapting to their harsh life, trying to prove himself—they still didn’t trust him. They saw him as an outsider, something dangerous, a ticking bomb.

The effort he had put in, the endless hours spent trying to show respect, to be useful, to learn—none of it mattered. In their eyes, he was still just human. And that, apparently, meant he was inherently untrustworthy.

His fists clenched involuntarily. They wanted him gone. No—more than that, they saw him as a threat. It wasn’t just about not belonging; it was deeper, more sinister. It was about something they believed ran through his blood, something he couldn’t change no matter how hard he tried. And that idea, the notion that his entire existence, his very nature, was reason enough to cast him out—it made his blood boil.

Varra’s voice was firm but wavered under the weight of their pressure. “He’s learning. He’s trying. He’s been nothing but respectful since he arrived. He hasn’t caused any trouble.”

Brakk scoffed, dismissing her defense without hesitation. “Not yet. You know as well as we do that humans don’t change. Humans are greedy. You know this. They always want everything. Land, resources. People.”

Leon’s mind spiraled. Every word was like a dagger, twisting deeper into the frustration and helplessness he had been bottling up since his arrival. All his efforts, all his attempts to prove that he wasn’t like that, that he could be different, seemed futile.

Their prejudice was like an iron wall—impenetrable, unyielding. How could they not see? He had done nothing wrong. He had respected their ways, kept his distance, learned their language, worked alongside them without complaint. And yet, here he was, being accused of something that wasn’t just untrue—it was a condemnation of who he was, of what they believed he would do, sooner or later. It didn’t matter how hard he tried. In their eyes, his humanity was a crime in itself.

And that—more than anything—was what set his rage ablaze.

Nogg grunted in agreement, backing up Brakk. “He’s right. Do you really want to trust one of them now? He’ll bring ruin to our tribe.”

Leon could feel the heat building inside him, a familiar burn he hadn’t felt in years. Powerlessness gnawed at him, feeding his anger—an anger that had been simmering for weeks. Now, it was rising, growing, threatening to consume him.

...It was becoming too much.

Varra, still trying to hold her ground, sounded strained. “I… I don’t think it’s fair to judge him like this. He deserves a chance.”

Nogg snarled. “He does not.”

At that, something inside Leon snapped. The anger he had been trying to suppress for weeks erupted like a volcano, surging up from the depths of his soul. It wasn't just a fleeting spark—this was rage, pure and unrelenting. A searing heat that clawed its way through his veins, burning everything in its path. It spread like poison, corroding his thoughts, and turning every rational idea to ash. The more he fought it, the more it consumed him, bubbling and boiling like acid under his skin, threatening to devour him whole.

He saw—red. Black.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Leon stormed out of his tent, his feet pounding through the snow, not even feeling the cold. Running. Charging. The words Nogg and Brakk had spat at him, the mockery, the dismissal, the hostility—it echoed in his head, feeding the inferno. His rage wasn’t just anger now; it was something alive, something monstrous, gnawing at him from the inside, fueling a fire that just wouldn’t stop.

He lunged, catching them by surprise. His fists flew, striking Nogg square in the face, then swinging wildly at Brakk. He could barely register Varra’s voice shouting in the background, her words lost in the roar of his own fury. Every punch, every movement felt like an outlet, a release from the frustration and helplessness he had bottled up for so long.

But he was outmatched. Nogg quickly recovered and sidestepped his next attack. Brakk retaliated with brutal efficiency, landing a blow that knocked Leon to the ground. Dizzy and disoriented, he struggled to get back up, rage still coursing through his veins.

Then, faintly, almost like an echo through water, Leon heard something behind him. A sound—low and rhythmic, like a voice speaking words he couldn’t understand. It was distant, muffled, as if his mind were submerged in a thick fog. But the fury inside him drowned out the warning, pushing him forward once more.

Before he could turn to face the sound, a sudden force—overwhelming and inescapable—struck him from behind. His vision blurred, his body seized, and for a moment, everything felt heavy, like the weight of the world had crashed down on him.

He barely had time to register the looming silhouette above him, shrouded in darkness, a long staff held in one hand.

His thoughts swirled into oblivion, and then—everything went black.

—

Leon awoke slowly, his head throbbing and his wrists heavy. As his vision cleared, he realized he was chained, his arms bound tightly in front of him. He groaned, the cold metal biting into his skin, pulling him harshly back to reality. He tugged at the chains, but they wouldn’t budge, clinking ominously in the silence.

He looked at the ground. He was bound. Like a rabid animal, a beast, too dangerous to be trusted.

Memories surged back, flashing images of his past life on Earth. The anger he had struggled with, the uncontrollable fits of rage that had turned him into a pariah. There had been times when he’d black out in his fury, and the consequences were always—severe.

That anger had ruined his life—cost him friendships, opportunities, even relationships. Back home—on Earth, they had given him medication to suppress it, to dampen the flames that threatened to consume him.

But here, in this unforgiving wilderness, there were no pills, no restraints except the chains around his wrists.

And it terrified him.

[Survivor Level 7!]

Class Change - Conditions met: [Survivor] -> [Rageful Survivor].

[New Skill - Anger, My Warmth].

The heavy flap of the tent suddenly rustled as Kraka pushed his way inside, his massive frame filling the space. The firelight flickered over his features, casting shadows that made his expression even grimmer than usual. He stood there for a moment, silent.

Leon didn’t bother to look up—he knew what was coming.

Kraka's eyes narrowed, his voice like a low growl in the dimly lit space. "What were you thinking?"

Leon remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of everything pressing down on him like an avalanche.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Kraka took a step forward, his anger barely contained. "You’ve been trying to prove yourself since the day you arrived. You’ve been given more leeway than most, and you were doing well. Many within the tribe had accepted you. But then—just a few cruel words behind your back, and you lose control? You attack? Like some... enraged beast?"

Leon flinched at the words, the shame hitting him harder than he had expected. He had been trying—desperately trying to fit in, to show them that he could be trusted. But the fire in him, the uncontrollable anger, had consumed him. Once again.

The same fire he had fought against his whole life.

Kraka stepped closer, his voice dropping lower, but no less dangerous. "What was it? What set you off? You were fitting in, learning our ways, and now this?" He gestured broadly, his frustration palpable. "Do you want to be cast out? To be seen as nothing more than a rabid dog? To prove that Nogg and Brakk's doubts about you were justified—that humans can't be trusted?"

Leon swallowed hard. The Gnoll’s words stung, but he couldn’t deny them. The truth was painful. His throat was dry, his body exhausted, but he knew he had to answer. There was no running from it now. He lifted his head slowly, meeting Kraka’s eyes for the first time.

"I… I lost control," Leon began, his voice hoarse. "It wasn’t just what they said, though, that’s what set me off. But it’s not the first time. Back home, I—" He hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth, knowing that once it was spoken, there was no going back.

"I have problems. Anger problems. Back on Earth, I was... violent. I was on medication for it. Pills that kept me from... doing exactly what I did today." He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "But here? There are no pills. No doctors. I’ve been holding it back as best I could, but it’s always there. It’s like poison in my veins, and sometimes... sometimes I just can’t stop it."

Kraka’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker in his eyes. A recognition, perhaps, of the internal war Leon had been fighting.

Leon continued, his voice low and filled with shame. "I tried to be different here. To fit in. To control it. I thought maybe... maybe this place would be different. That I’d be different. But it’s still inside me, this... rage. And when I heard them talking like that, about me, like I was nothing, like I was a threat—it just… it all came pouring out."

Kraka was silent for a long time, his eyes never leaving Leon. The Gnoll chief’s face was unreadable, his mind clearly working through everything he had just heard.

Finally, Kraka let out a slow breath, his gaze softening—just slightly. "This isn’t just about what you did today," he said quietly. "You’re carrying something far deeper than any of us knew. But you attacked members of this tribe. And that can’t be overlooked."

Leon tensed. He had crossed a line, and there was no escaping the consequences.

"I will have to call an Assembly," Kraka continued. "What you did today can’t be ignored, and the tribe needs to decide what to do with you. You attacked two of your …own—whether you meant to or not, the damage is done." Kraka paused, his gaze hardening again. "But we’re not without options."

Leon blinked, surprised. He had expected Kraka to throw him out on the spot, or worse. "Options?"

Kraka nodded slowly. "I have an idea. But it’s not just up to me. The Assembly will have to weigh in. Whatever happens next will not be easy for you, Leon." Kraka straightened, his tone becoming more formal, more resolute. "But you won’t be there. The tribe will decide your fate, and whatever comes next, it’s not just your past you’ll have to reckon with. It’s this tribe, and where—or if—you still belong within it."

Leon nodded, his throat tight with emotion, but he didn’t argue. He knew this was just the beginning. The fire within him was far from extinguished, but perhaps, with Kraka’s help, he could find a way to—heal.

—

Kraka stood in the center of a vast tent, surrounded by the pack leaders—mothers and fathers of the tribe's main families. The fire pit in the middle cast long shadows on the worn furs beneath them, the heat warding off the bitter cold that had settled overnight.

Many of the gathered Gnolls knew Leon, or at least knew of him. Most had come to accept his place among them, though a few still questioned Kraka’s decision. But none questioned the importance of this Assembly, or the purpose that had brought them all together.

Among those gathered were Nogg and Brakk, as well as Varra—the victims and the witness.

Nogg was the first to break the silence, his voice sharp with frustration. “He doesn’t belong here, Kraka. He attacked us, out of nowhere, like a rabid dog! We can't trust him, he’s a danger to the tribe!"

Brakk, sitting beside him, nodded firmly. “I agree with Nogg. His outburst proves he’s unstable. The boy's anger could bring disaster upon us. And of course, there’s the fact that he’s human. He doesn’t fit in.”

Kraka stood tall, his gaze sweeping over the gathered leaders. They were divided, he saw. He knew their concerns were valid, but they didn’t see what he did. Didn’t felt what he had felt when they found him.

Varra, seated next to Kraka, spoke up, her youthful voice filled with anger, her fur bristling. “You said bad things about him! He was only reacting to what you said! He’s learning our ways, and adapting really well.” She turned towards Kraka, looking up at him, almost glaring. “We should give him a chance!”

Nogg’s lip curled in a sneer. "You’re blind, Varra. His kind—humans—betrayed us before. Have you all forgotten your own history? When the human kingdoms tried to invade us, our ancestors bled to stop them. Now you want to welcome one into our tribe? He will only bring trouble, like the rest of his race."

Kraka's eyes darkened as the mention of the past stirred old grudges. Borealis had not always been frozen, and the memory of the human kingdoms attempting to claim their territory still lingered in many minds.

"He attacked you, and for that I agree, something should be done. But Leon is not responsible for the sins of his ancestors," Kraka said, his voice low and commanding. "We do not punish the boy for the crimes of his race."

The tent fell into tense silence as the argument reached a standstill. Then, the flap at the entrance rustled, and a new presence entered. An old Gnoll—tall, scarred, his fur grayed with age and wisdom, stepped into the circle. The air grew thick with reverence and respect as all eyes turned to him.

Old Kazarai, the tribe’s [Elder Shaman], approached slowly, leaning on his long, intricately carved staff. He had been away for some time, his presence requested at the Meeting of Shamans, and was the one who had stopped Leon. His return brought an undeniable weight to the discussion. The moment he entered, the chiefs straightened.

Kazarai’s voice was like the crackling of old wood, calm yet filled with authority. “You speak of the boy’s rage, his lack of control,” he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. “But rage is not the enemy. It is a force—a fire that can either destroy or strengthen. The boy's rage is wild now, untamed. But with the right guidance, it can be mastered.”

Brakk frowned, his earlier bravado subdued, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. “And who will guide him, Old One? Who could teach him to master such a…liability?”

Kazarai’s eyes glinted with something unspoken, and he spoke the name that made the air in the tent grow colder. “Khazarg.”

At the sound of the name, an uneasy ripple passed through the gathered chiefs. Even the most hardened brutes shifted in their seats. Khazarg was no ordinary Gnoll. He was the tribe's most feared and respected warrior, a Berserker, with unmatched strength, who had once been known for his fearsome rages in battle.

But more importantly, Khazarg was not a slave to his fury. He had mastered it, learned to control the burning fire within him with a discipline few could, and would, ever achieve.

Kraka’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the name, though he remained composed. Others were not so calm.

“Old Khazarg?” Nogg's voice wavered slightly, betraying the fear that even he, a [Warrior of the Tribe] felt at the mention of the Berserker’s name. “You would send the human to him?”

Kazarai nodded, his old voice unwavering. “I have seen many types of anger, of rage, on battlefields and outside—in everyday life, and I can tell you with certainty, his anger was not normal. It was blind, self-consuming. Harmful.” He glanced around at his audience. “Khazarg has mastered the very thing that threatens to consume the boy. Rage is a powerful tool, but only if tempered by wisdom. By control. And Khazarg will teach him control, how to wield his anger as a weapon, and not be consumed by it.”

Brakk, usually so confident, so full of himself, seemed unsure. “Old Khazarg is... he’s different. What if he can’t handle it? What if it only makes the human more dangerous? More unstable?”

Kazarai’s gaze hardened. “If the boy cannot learn to leash his rage with Khazarg’s teachings, then he is beyond our help.” His gaze landed on Varra. “But, as the youngest among you tonight wisely said, we must give him a chance.”

Kraka spoke, his voice steady. “Old Kazarai is right. We have two choices: exile Leon, let him fend for himself and die, or give him the opportunity to master his anger. If he fails, we lose nothing. He will be cast out. But if he succeeds… we would have done a good thing. A fair thing. And that is a reward on its own.”

Some tension remained in the air, but there was a shift. Even Nogg, though still visibly unsettled—and unsatisfied, seemed to wield under the weight of Kazarai’s words. The fear and awe of Khazarg was real, but so was the understanding that this was the best way forward.

After a long silence, Nogg spoke, his voice gruff but resigned. He knew he had lost. “If Old Khazarg agrees... then I’ll stand by the decision.”

Next to him, Brakk grimaced but nodded. The others followed, one by one, until the consensus was clear.

Kraka looked around the circle of pack leaders. “It is decided then. Leon will remain with us, but he will be sent to Old Khazarg for training.”

Though the decision had been made, the weight of it still lingered. Khazarg was a legend among them, revered and feared in equal measure. What lay ahead for Leon would be no easy path, but Kraka knew that it was the only way forward. For the good of the tribe.

And deep down, he felt a glimmer of hope—that in the flames of his rage, Leon might just find the strength to forge himself into what Kraka believed the Voice had intended for him to be all along: a force destined to change not just himself, but the fate of their tribe.

Of the Gnolls.

The Voice speaks, and we follow.