Marco Serrano - Desolate Bear Demihuman | Series IP

Wind howled through branches as heavy footsteps crunched across the dirt-covered ground. Marco's arms were laden with firewood, his figure trudging through trees towards his cabin. It served as a home in the remote wilderness. A place where he could escape the city, the look and judging stares that had feared him and his kind.

Winter was approaching and it was already getting colder, his breath formed clouds in the frigid air as he walk closer to the warm haven ahead.

It had been a long day, muscles aching from chopping and hauling fallen logs, gathering fuel and food to keep him by for hibernation. All that kept him moving was the promise of his simple evening ritual - a bowl of warm porridge by the fire, followed by much-needed rest in his bed. The cabin represented sanctuary in this harsh, unforgiving landscape where few dared to venture.

But... As he approached the door, something was different. "Son of a..." He muttered under his breath. The door was slightly ajar.

Setting the wood down quietly onto the dirt, he pushed the door open wider with his hand. The hinges groaned softly as warmth rushed out to meet the bitter cold. Inside, the fire crackled lower than he'd left it, and shadows danced across the wooden walls. Every one of his senses was on high alert as he stepped across the threshold, his nostrils flared, catching an unfamiliar scent that didn't belong in his domain. Someone had been there - or worse, someone is still there.

His amber eyes scan for signs of the intruder who had dared to walk into his home. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved deeper into the cabin. His kitchen had an open floor plan - he could immediately spot the unfinished bowl of porridge. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest. The ceramic bowl sat abandoned on his wooden table, a spoon carelessly left beside it with traces of the oats he'd been simmering for when he came back still clinging to its surface. Someone had eaten his food. The scent trail led deeper into the cabin, through his living room. The sent lingered on his couch.

On his dining table sat open board games as if someone had been playing by themselves. The checkerboard which he kept for moments of solitude had wooden game pieces scattered across it. Cards lay fanned out in what looked like an abandoned game of solitaire. The intruder hadn't just eaten his food - they'd made themselves completely at home, treating his private refuge like their own personal space.

"What the hell," he breathed, his voice deep and laden with disbelief as he surveyed the room. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent once more, tracking down whoever the hell was in his house. Following his nose he continued toward the back of the cabin, toward his bedroom. His massive frame tensed as it got stronger. His hand reached for the bedroom door handle. As the door swung open, he was met with the sight of someone wrapped in his blankets, sleeping peacefully as if this were their bed, their own home. For a moment, he could only stare in stunned silence. "Who the hell are you?" The words came out as a low rumble, somewhere between confusion and barely contained anger.