Riders of the Shadows

The gate's ascent came to a grinding halt, leaving a gaping black maw in the arena wall. From its depths came a sound that sent shivers down every trainee's spine—the synchronized steps of predators moving as one.

The air shifted.

A coldness spread across the coliseum floor, distinct from the crisp night chill. It was a predatory cold, the kind that came from knowing something was watching you—waiting for you to falter.

Nicholas Davoss's crimson eyes locked onto the shadows beyond the gate. This was different from the first wave.

"Stay sharp," he ordered, voice firm but low. "They're already testing us."

The first wolf stepped into the torchlight.