The forest was silent but charged, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Draka walked behind the young lycan, the moonlight carving silver lines across his bare chest. The young one said nothing, just kept moving through the dense woods until the air turned colder—damp stone replacing moss underfoot.
They arrived at the mouth of a large cave. Inside, torches flickered. Shadows moved. And then, one by one, they emerged.
Lycans.
Not wolves—these were more. Taller, broader, raw power knitted into their limbs and carved into their faces. Their eyes glowed in the dark, each pair resting on Draka with a mix of caution and reverence.
Then, without a word, they bowed.
Draka’s expression didn’t shift, but inside, something shifted—something old. Ancient. His voice was quiet, bu
