In a shadowed clearing deep in the forest…
Two figures stood still—calm, silent, dangerous.
Across from them, the wild stirred.
Dire Alpha Wolves emerged, massive and ragged with muscle, their black-iron fur glinting under slivers of green light. Eyes glowed crimson locked onto their prey.
Lumberling shifted his grip on his spear. Half his body was swallowed in shadow, his stance low, focused. He didn't breathe—he listened. The forest wasn't terrain to him. It was home.
Beside him, Skitz cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. A sharp grin tugged at his lips. One hand spun a small bomb with casual flair, while the other rested loosely on the hilt of his sword.
The Alpha lunged—fangs like ivory scythes.
Time slowed.
Lumberling saw it all: the angle of the leap, the shadow of Skitz behind him, the raw fury in the wolf's eyes.
'If I slip here, he dies.'
