Silver Moraine show me the way

aw! experimental character <3

The land had changed since his last visit. Warm winds wove through his fur, whispering of the spring to come. Yet Astier felt neither relief nor joy. He had known unforgiving winters: crushing snow beneath his paws, hunting beneath star-laden skies, conquering what lay before him. But now, he was little more than dust on the wind, a phantom drifting through an unfamiliar, barren world. An outcast.
His steps carried him forward, the jagged earth scorching beneath his paws, claws etching silent scars into the stone. He would leave his mark; of that, there was no doubt. Still, he moved with care; the mingling scents of many signaled the presence of packs. The ghost inhaled slowly, his expression unreadable, his gaze distant; pale and haunting beneath the fractured light that broke through the heavy clouds.

faust watched him from afar first, shadowed and still, the kind of figure most men would rather avoid. yet this one wandered closer, drawn like a specter toward the perimeter of darukaal’s land, and faust met him halfway, heavy-footed and silent until the last few strides.
he approached with the weight of authority stitched into every muscle, posture tall and broad. you lost? the words came blunt, scraped raw from a throat unused to pleasantries. his ear flicked toward the wind, tasting the stranger’s scent, gauging the story it told.
the man didn’t smell of belonging. not of these lands, not of any faust knew.
his gaze sharpened, cutting through the chill like a blade. or you looking to make trouble” a pause, the faintest curl of his lip—a jest, or maybe just a warning. the glacier didn’t welcome ghosts, but it sure as hell knew how to bury them.

As expected, the arrival of another sent a ripple through the earth. Broad shoulders tensed, his tail unnaturally still. Pale eyes flicked to the male; tall, dark, and strong, his face etched with the marks of war. He carried the unmistakable scent of a pack, likely one of those Astier had scented earlier.
Yet, the ghost did not waver. Though his stance remained firm, there was no challenge in it; only caution, a quiet assertion of neutrality. A smirk tugged at his lips, teasing the weight of the moment. „The latter would be more fitting,” he mused, amusement threading his voice. He had no interest in provoking the shadowed figure before him, despite what his words suggested. Different as they were, light and dark, ghost and warrior, strength lay in them both.
His gaze drifted briefly to the towering peaks in the distance before returning to the stranger, curiosity now edging his features. Where did he belong? Head tilting slightly, he murmured, „I’ve come to haunt the mountains.” The ghost of Evenfall, a title once whispered in the past, a ghost wandering the heights his family once ruled. The stars he was meant to inherit, to lead. „Perhaps these will suffice.” His voice was low, coarse, unreadable. A silent invitation hung in the air; an unspoken assurance that he had not come to conquer.
At least, not yet.

the man before him was all frost and whisper, a pale wraith against the spine of the peaks. faust's steps slowed, deliberate and heavy, his shadow stretching long over the snow as he came to stand near. the air between them was thin, stretched taut like the wire of a snare.
haunt 'em all you like, faust rumbled, voice as cold and rough as the stones beneath his paws. his gaze swept over the stranger, sharp and assessing, lingering on the old scars, the glint of something feral behind his pale eyes. but if you're lookin' for quiet, you'll find none here.
he shifted his weight, broad shoulders rolling beneath the dark cascade of his pelt, head tilting as if the very earth beneath them belonged to him. and, in truth, it did. the glacier, the snow, the wind—they had all carved him from bone and night. these mountains don't take kindly to ghosts. a smirk tugged faintly at his lips, mirroring the other's own. or drifters. either you stand and make yourself known, or you vanish like the rest.
faust flicked his gaze out to the peaks where the wind howled. so then, he said, low and even, you haunting us for long, ghost?

„Fortunately, that is not what I seek,” A quiet, mundane life; such paths were for women, not him. Not for the mighty lord who conquers forests and mountains. He had not come to stir chaos, yet the thought of conquest lingered, tempting in its own way. Pale gaze traced the stranger’s tracks before rising to meet his face, his gaze sharp against the man’s shadowed form. Unlike him, Astier bore no scars; his coat remained pristine, untouched by battle. The specter moved forward, claws lightly scoring the rock beneath him, leaving subtle traces of his passing.
A quiet tsk escaped his lips, his chest rising with a slow breath. „And still, the wind calls their names.” His head dipped slightly, the weight of something unspoken lingering in the air. Should he stay? His presence had already been noted. Perhaps it would be worth lingering, just long enough to see what this dark-cloaked figure might offer.
„Long enough,” The ghost stood tall, his tail flicking as a whip. The peaks belonged to the shadow man, there was no question. But ghosts did not seek permission to haunt. 
„My name is Astier,” a murmur, cut short. His pale gaze fell to the ground for a fleeting moment, before snapping back to meet the stranger’s eyes. It was a sentence left unfinished, and yet it burned within him. Titles! He had titles; many titles. Titles that had been torn from him, stripped away as if he were no more than a servant, a lowly wretch unworthy of his name. But he knew what he was, what he would be. His face remained unreadable, eyes sharp and focused, but within him, a fire raged.

faust watches him from the rise, gaze cold and knowing. the ghost’s voice carries in the quiet, and the man’s posture says enough—wandering, restless, unclaimed. he has seen his kind before.
he descends slow, steady, like a storm rolling in. nothing hurried, nothing wasted. snow crunches beneath his weight. when he speaks, it's low and rough, the voice of ice splitting at the seams.
faust. kaan, here. he says simply. his name is enough here. no need for the rest. those who need to know, already do.
a glance drifts over the pale figure, noting the smoothness of his coat. unscarred, unbroken. it makes his brow tick, just slightly.
you plan to stay? faust asks, words curt and edged with mild indifference. not challenge. not yet. but there are few ghosts who linger long without cause. fewer still who leave without making trouble.
his breath curls like smoke in the cold. he does not smile.

Faust. The wraith turned the name over in his mind, letting it settle like an echo against cold stone. Kaan. The word held weight, a title spoken in a tongue unknown to him. Its meaning eluded Astier, but its significance did not; there was power in it, worn like a mantle. The way the man carried himself, poised and assured, left no doubt: a commander, a force to be reckoned with.
Astier shifted, his own posture rising to match. Once, long ago, he had been a man like this. And he would be again.
His lips parted, yet no sound came. The decision had been made; the path was clear. So why did the words catch in his throat, jagged and unyielding? A rough inhale, a pulse quickened. His gaze, cold and gleaming, found the shadowed man.
„For now,” The knot in his throat shattered like glass, each shard cutting deep. Pride burned as he swallowed it down, but still, the edges remained; sharp, bitter, unwilling to be dulled.
„Would that be a bother?” Not that it mattered. Faust’s permission was a formality, nothing more. Astier had no intention of fading, he was here, and he would remain. Silent now, he stood, awaiting the answer. Pale gaze shifted to his glacier kingdom, beckoning. Intrigued, he found himself wishing to know more of it.

faust met the man's gaze, unwavering, the cold wind slicing through them both. astier carried himself with the quiet poise of a man who had lost much but was unwilling to fall beneath the weight of it. faust knew the look well—had worn it himself once, before the glacier had shaped him into something greater, something unyielding.
his tail flicked once, slow and deliberate, as he nodded. we are stronger in numbers. it was not an invitation, nor a reassurance. it was fact, spoken as solidly as the ice beneath their paws. the tundra did not favor lone ghosts, no matter how formidable they thought themselves.
his eyes lingered on astier, reading him. measuring. the man did not grovel, nor beg, and that earned him a sliver of faust’s respect. but trust? that was something else entirely.
for now, he echoed the white wolf’s own words, his voice rough like the crags of the mountains they stood upon. but the glacier does not shelter those who do not prove their worth.
a test. unspoken, but there. faust did not believe in chance meetings; if astier was here, if the glacier had drawn him forth, then he would be put to use.
his gaze flicked toward the jagged horizon, where the frozen wilds stretched endlessly. come. i will show you the land, and you will see if it suits you.
and, more importantly, faust would see if astier suited the glacier.

exit Astier! <3

The specter stood tall, as unyielding and cold as the glacier he would soon haunt. A slow nod, measured, deliberate: more fangs meant more strength. He had known this once, long ago, and he knew it still.
His broad chest rose, then fell, the motion steady, unaffected. The wind, sharp as a hunter’s blade, raked through his pale fur, but he did not shiver. It passed over him like breath upon stone; acknowledged, yet insignificant.
He would be of use. He had been before a hunter, a warrior, a ruler in his own right. Astier did not need to prove himself, not to this man nor to any other. And yet, pride, splintered and raw, whispered its demands. He would let it rest, for now. Let time carve its own verdict.
A second nod, accompanied by the faintest curl of his lips; a ghost of a smirk, nothing more. The ghost did not speak; instead, he moved, silent, assured. He followed, his head high, gaze sweeping over the frozen expanse. The glacier would suit him; this he knew. And soon enough, the commander would know it too.