I eye him suspiciously - intensely - as he addresses me. His grandfather? There is a quirk to my brow. He is related, I suppose, to either Devil May Cry or Heyel. By the looks of him, I assume it is not Heyel. His kin have a very... specific look, a very specific confidence that comes from nowhere. This boy, however, does not ooze such entitlement. For that, I am glad. Nonetheless, I meet his eyes hard and step forward, commanding his attention as I move to speak.

"Do not become like your grandfather. Become greater."

It is the only advice I can offer. After all, I have no time for anybody who wishes to perfectly emulate another. Each generation must become better. Stronger, faster, smarter. We cannot settle to remain stagnant.

My next offer - or order, I suppose - seems to confuse him. It brings an amused grin to the corner of my lips. It is, I must admit, an unusual thing to be asked to do. It is not a common thing for another to offer their own flesh and blood for such a frivolous cause. Yet, it must be done. If he cannot do it with permission, then who is to say he can do it without?

Then, he lunges. I feel him rush forward, his weight colliding with me somewhat as his teeth break into the flesh. It is a thick area and yet, I can still feel the sudden violence behind his jaws. They sting and burn, a pained growl rising in my throat and yet, I allow him to remain there until he sees it fit to release me. Only then do I shift myself so that I might find his face once more, now trimmed in the fresh crimson of my own blood. It is always such an experience to see the colour of my own insides. I offer him a half-smile, the tips of my own teeth emerging from the darkness of my lips. I can feel the prickle of broken flesh, blood clinging to the long hairs that erupt from my skin.

"Come summer, we will begin. You are no grandson now. You are a wolf of Glorall. You are your own wolf."