The Sunspire immune to this

faust stood at the mountain's edge, his green eyes cutting through the misty haze as the stranger approached. the silhouette sharpened with each step, revealing a wolf of weathered strength—scarred, rugged, his physique that of a soldier honed through battle. broad-shouldered and lean, the stranger carried himself with an air of superiority, though faust could tell at a glance: this was no creature born of the peaks.

the northerner didn’t move, his stance relaxed but purposeful, a figure etched from the very stone beneath him. the wind howled between them, carrying the faint scent of fatigue and the lingering essence of blood. faust’s sharp gaze flicked to the stranger’s frame, noting the signs of exertion, the heaviness of his breath, and the telltale marks of a hunt gone awry.

you’re far from home, faust called out, his voice low and steady, cutting cleanly through the thin air. he didn’t step forward, letting the mountain itself fill the space between them. you have a death wish? or lost, or just stubborn?

the faintest flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips, though his posture remained firm, a silent declaration that this was his domain. the mountain bore no mercy for outsiders, and neither would he—not until he knew what the stranger sought.