Howl at the City

Brioche has mastered the art of being small.

In a city that watches Beastmen with polite smiles and tightened hands, he keeps his shoulders straight, his voice measured, his temper locked behind careful breathing. At the café, he is dependable. At rehearsal, he is steady. In public, he is harmless. That is how you survive.

But at night, behind the studio walls, the drums tell a different story.

As HoundBites claws its way from obscurity toward something bigger, Toast finds himself standing at the center of a sound that refuses to stay quiet. Old friends pull him forward. Old fears drag him back. Every performance chips at the armor he built to stay safe, and every spotlight feels less like warmth and more like exposure.