His eyes, usually so fierce and unyielding, held a glimmer of something raw, almost broken. The scars on his face seemed to deepen with the gravity of his admission, etching the history of our conflict into his weathered skin.

"Yet here we stand," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within me, "on the precipice of either peace or further ruin. What is it you truly seek, Biansky? More graves to visit at nightfall, or a chance at a future where our pups might run together without ...