Grizz had grown up in the capital of the Free Realms, Amar, or more accurately, in the city’s orphanage. He had been abandoned as an infant by a woman far too young to be a mother, left with nothing but a name: Goran.

He was the classic spirited child: headstrong, sharp, and far too clever for his age, and it didn’t take him long to realize that the walls of the orphanage were more of a cage than a shelter to him. That’s when his midnight escapades began, as he started to unravel the secrets of the vibrant, ever-awake capital city. And he loved that freedom. The lantern light glinting off the colorful merchant tents, reflecting in the windows of shops and homes, cast playful shadows that gave Amar a mysterious beauty. The one who always tried to rein him in was Quna, a tiny gnome girl raised with him at the orphanage. “You shouldn’t sneak out at night, Goran.” she would often say. “The city’s dangerous. Uncle Taylor says so, too.”
“But then I’d miss the scents, Quna! The people’s faces, the noise from the harbor!” he would reply, before launching into stories about where he’d been and what he’d discovered. He didn’t want to give up his freedom. But it wasn’t long before he had to admit that Quna was right: the world was dangerous, and for all his cleverness, he was still just a kid. One night, during one of his usual wanderings, he stumbled across a group of older boys who called themselves The Rats. They survived however they could, stealing, scamming, and swindling their way through the city. None of them was of age, but they were skilled, sharp, and organized enough to have their hideout in an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Goran set his mind on joining them, and for two long weeks, he trailed them everywhere, much to their annoyance.
“Listen, Vynce, I’m small and quick. I know the alleys of this city like the back of my hand, and I can keep my mouth shut. What’s it cost you to add one more to the crew?” Goran pleaded for the hundredth time.
“Gods above, don’t you ever give up? Fine, Goran. You’ve filled my ears so much they’re ready to burst. But I’m warning you, this isn’t an easy life. I expect maximum effort.”
“You have my word, boss!” Goran was giddy with excitement.

Five years passed, and Goran became a solid member of the Rats, forging a bond with a few that felt as strong as family. He spent more and more time on the streets, less and less at the orphanage, no matter how many times Uncle Taylor tried to lock him in. Eventually, the old man gave up; nothing could hold Goran back. He kept sharing his wild tales and street adventures with Quna, who, unlike him, was far more interested in books than in life outside. But they had grown up together, and their friendship endured. Goran shared his escapades; Quna countered with the epic deeds of heroes from her stories.

Everything changed the night the Rats received a tip that could make them rich beyond their wildest imagination.
“They call it The Emerald Wave. Docks at dawn. It has been sailing the Western Lands for two years.” Merika had overheard the harbor commander speaking to the city guard’s second-in-command.
“This is the big break?” Goran asked, skeptical.
“Think of the treasures they’ve picked up, kid. The coins that’ll rain into our pockets!”
She still called him a kid, always needling him at every chance. Goran didn’t feel like arguing, so he swallowed the irritation rising in his chest.
“We’ve got no solid info on the cargo. And the fact that the city guard is involved makes the whole thing riskier. I think that this is way above our skills.”
“Which also means the payout is higher.” Darius chimed in, earning nods of agreement from the others.
“The guard doesn’t get involved unless it’s something worth guarding.” someone else added.
In the end, they all voted in favour, except for Goran and a few others. He had a bad feeling about it, but said nothing and began prepping with the crew. When his eyes met Vynce’s, he saw the same doubt reflected there.

Dawn came too fast. The Rats were in position. The Emerald Wave approached the dock, and the city guards moved in. Goran counted two patrols of four.
The plan was simple: if the ship was only stopping briefly, they’d wait for nightfall to make their move. But luck was on their side: sailors started unloading crates and hauling them into a warehouse right across the dock. All The Rats had to do was slip in through the upper windows and grab as much as they could carry. Then the warehouse doors slammed shut and chains rattled into place. Merika, Vynce, Tiny, and Lussras hesitated only a moment before dropping down inside, but something caught Goran’s eye. He’d counted eighteen people, sailors and guards, but only sixteen had left the warehouse. Someone was still inside. He didn’t even have time to act.
“INTRUDERS!” The shout rang out.
The guards turned instantly, fumbling with locks and chains. Screams erupted from inside the warehouse. From the rooftop window, Goran saw Vynce on the ground, a deep wound across his back. Lussras tried dragging him, blood pouring from a head injury, while Merika and Tiny fended off attackers: one a guard, the other a massive sailor.
Without a second thought, Goran dropped from the mezzanine grate and landed behind the two adults. A swift slash to the sailor’s leg sent him down, but the guard spun fast, sword ready. The blade caught Goran’s chest, but only a glancing blow. That brief distraction was enough for Merika and Mignolo to bring the guard down. They rushed to the others, scrambling to pull them to safety, but Vynce’s lifeless stare told them everything: he was gone.
Goran doesn’t remember what happened next. Not how they climbed back to the mezzanine, nor the rooftops they fled across. All he clearly remembers are his hands gripping Vynce’s shoulders and the deafening buzz ringing in his ears.
They left his body behind, in the hands of whatever gods might claim it, and limped back to their hideout, battered and broken. Goran didn’t speak, nor did anyone else. Those who stayed behind stopped asking questions when they saw one was missing. Grief and guilt were the only things anyone felt. Time seemed frozen.
Except for Merika.
She pulled a small chest from under her coat, placed it on a crate, and carefully opened it.
“What’s that?” Goran’s voice broke the silence.
“I don’t know.” she replied offhandedly. “Didn’t come with instructions.”
Something snapped inside Goran. He surged forward, fists clenched, glaring at the item in the chest: a crudely carved stone bear, standing on its hind legs.
“Don’t touch it. It’s mine, kid.”
“SHUT UP!”
He struck her hard across the face, catching her by the shirt before she could fall.
“Vynce died because of your idiotic plan.” He hit her again, shouting at the top of his lungs. “You selfish bitch!” Another blow. “Do you even care?” Again. Then he let her drop. “All that, for this rock?”
He reached for the statue. He wanted to smash it in her face, to keep hitting until the rage suffocated him. Some of the others jumped to stop him, but the moment his fingers closed around the stone, a pulse surged through his body and froze him. His heart thundered. Muscles seized. Bones cracked. He tried to scream, but no sound came. He couldn’t drop the statue; his hand wouldn’t open. Then he fell to his knees.
Tiny rushed to help him, but Goran shoved him away, unintentionally and violently. The others stood paralyzed by what they were witnessing. Pain coursed through him, unbearable and consuming. But the worst was in his chest: a searing blade digging deeper and deeper, piercing past flesh and bone, straight into his soul.
After what felt like an eternity, Goran finally stood. His friends stared at him in horror, and he stared back. He glanced down at the statue still clenched in his hand, as it crumbled into dust. Then he collapsed.
When he woke, Merika lay beside him with her face bandaged and still unconscious. Tiny sat cross-legged nearby.
“Goran…” was all he could manage to say.
“Everything hurts, T. What the hell happened to me?”
He didn’t answer. Not until Goran sat up.
“It’s better if you see for yourself.” he said, helping him to his feet.
He led him to a mirror resting on some crates. At first, Goran didn’t recognize the reflection. His body was now covered in a short, thick layer of pale gray fur, like a bear’s. His shoulders had broadened, arms and legs had thickened. His teeth were replaced by sharp fangs. His fingers were now claws. Only his emerald green eyes remained unchanged. The reflection wasn’t him. And yet it was.
“I don’t know what happened to you, Goran. None of us does.”
He looked around but couldn’t bear the pity and fear in his friends’ eyes, so he ran. Ran from the warehouse and their stares.
His feet took him to the only place that had ever felt like home: the orphanage. He knocked on the door, and Uncle Taylor answered. He flinched at first, but then… he saw. Saw him.
Tears in his eyes, he recognized the boy he’d raised.

After that night, Goran decided to leave Amar. The city, with all its memories, was too heavy. He said goodbye to Uncle Taylor and Quna, promising to return. He walked out the city’s eastern gate, free in a way he’d never been before. From that day forward, he was Grizz.