Chapter Text
I. The Last Wolfwalker
The forest sang in the silence of the night. Wind whispered through the leaves, carrying the faint scent of rain and earth. Beneath the ancient canopy, where moonlight barely touched, a shadow moved with purpose—a wolf whose coat was dark as ash and eyes burned like dying embers.
To the forest, he was Fenris, but to the world of men, he was a thousand names, each tied to a life lived and discarded. These days, he called himself Cian Ó Faoláin, an unassuming Irishman with sharp features and piercing amber eyes. Fenris had survived centuries in this guise, shedding identities like the trees shed their leaves, always moving, always hiding.
He had lived longer than he cared to remember, born in a time before quirks, before heroes, before humans learned to tame the world. His kind had been guardians of balance, beings bestowed with the primal power of the Wolfwalker. They were not born of evolution or mutation but of the earth itself, protectors of nature and its delicate harmony.
Once, long ago, the Wolfwalkers thrived in the hills and forests of Ireland. They lived as a pack, united in purpose, with Fenris among the strongest of them. But humans, as they always did, saw their power as something to be taken, controlled, or destroyed. The hunters came with fire and steel, driven by greed and fear, until Fenris was all that remained.
He fled Ireland with a heavy heart, carrying the memories of his lost pack and their sacred name for him: Fenris, the Devourer, the fiercest of their kin. He journeyed across continents, always in the shadows, watching as humanity grew and changed.
When quirks emerged, Fenris observed from afar. At first, he was fascinated, seeing echoes of the Wolfwalker bond between humans and their newfound abilities. But soon, he saw the darker side—how power bred greed and conflict, how quirks became weapons, and how those who wielded them sought more. It reminded him too much of the hunters who had taken his pack.
Japan became his refuge, its dense forests and mountains offering him a semblance of peace. Here, he thought he could live out the rest of his days in solitude, his existence a fading echo of a forgotten past.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
II. A Chance Meeting
The forest was darker than he had expected, the trees stretching upward like towering shadows. Katsuki Bakugou pushed forward, his small fists clenched, his heart pounding with a mix of frustration and adrenaline. The air smelled different here—rich and alive, full of scents he couldn’t name but somehow recognised.
Katsuki had always been a wild child. Even before his quirk emerged, he was stronger, faster, and more volatile than other children his age. His mother often called him “my little beast,” though the affection in her words had long since faded.
After his quirk manifested, things at home changed. His parents’ high expectations turned into harsh demands, their frustration boiling over whenever Katsuki failed to meet their impossible standards. His father withdrew, too passive to intervene, while his mother’s scolding grew sharper, often accompanied by the sting of her hand.
It was after one particularly harsh argument that Katsuki ran. He left the suffocating walls of his house, his anger and hurt driving him toward the woods on the outskirts of the city. The forest had always called to him, its quiet vastness offering a reprieve from the chaos of his home.
That night, under the glow of a waning moon, Katsuki stumbled upon something he couldn’t explain.
Slumped against the base of a tree was a massive creature, its dark fur matted with blood. At first, he thought it was a large dog, but as he moved closer, he realised it was far larger—and far more dangerous.
“Stupid dog,” Katsuki muttered under his breath, crouching low. “You’ll die if you stay like this.”
The wolf stirred, its ears twitching at his voice. Its eyes opened, glowing amber like firelight, locking onto Katsuki with a sharp intelligence that made him freeze. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet stayed rooted.
He didn’t know why, but he reached out. His small hand hovered near the wolf’s fur, trembling slightly. “You’re hurt,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
The wolf’s growl rumbled low and deep, a warning that sent shivers down Katsuki’s spine. But he didn’t pull back. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the creature held him there, a strange pull he couldn’t ignore.
The wolf moved faster than he could react, its jaws clamping down on his arm. Pain flared, white-hot and searing, as Katsuki screamed. His quirk activated in a reflexive burst of light and heat, a small explosion against the wolf’s face.
The creature recoiled, releasing him with a snarl, and Katsuki stumbled backward, his head striking the rough bark of a tree. The edges of his vision blurred, his body numb from the pain and adrenaline coursing through him.
As he collapsed to the ground, the last thing he saw was the wolf’s glowing eyes watching him, no longer threatening but unreadable, before darkness claimed him.
When Katsuki woke, everything was different.