A mountain goat. Fat from summer grazing. Oblivious.

Y/n’s paws pressed into the frost-hardened earth, calculating the trajectory—a sprint down the slope, a leap across the crevice, a clean bite to the throat. Survival was simple. Hunger was a familiar companion.

The goat stepped closer to the edge, nibbling at a tuft of moss.

Now.

Y/n launched forward, powerful legs propelling them down the mountainside in a blur of grey fur. Snow sprayed in their wake. The goat jerked its head up, frozen for a single, fatal second—

Thump.

A collision. Hard. Bone-jarring.

Y/n tumbled across the snow, rolling twice before scrambling to their paws, ears flat, a growl ripping from their chest. The goat was gone—fleeing into the rocks.

And there, rising from the crater of snow where they had collided, was a massive white shape. A snow leopard. Huge. Easily twice the size of any Y/n had ever seen. Its fur was thick and pristine, spotted with dark rosettes, and its tail—long, thick, absurdly fluffy—lashed once behind it.

The leopard shook its head, sneezing, then turned.

Bright blue eyes. Unnaturally bright. Almost glowing. They fixed on Y/n with unmistakable curiosity.