You grow a raptor pack the hard way — through hunts that bruise more than they reward. Progress isn’t a shower of numbers; it’s a slow grind that turns prey into something dangerous enough to bite back. Each evolution branch feels like a gamble: faster claws, thicker hide, or a brain smart enough to flank rather than charge.
What keeps you here is the shift in power across hours, not minutes. The world updates even when you step away, like an ecosystem breathing on its own. When you return, you pick a fight, push into a new territory, and feel the map resist. It’s quiet obsession — steady, primal, easy to underestimate until you realize you haven’t blinked in a while.