The first thing I learned about the underground was that it did not announce itself.
There were no gates carved with warnings. No guards standing in ceremonial armor. No dramatic threshold separating the wild from something darker. One moment I was following a narrow game trail that dipped beneath a curtain of hanging vines, and the next, the forest itself seemed to fold inward, swallowing sound and light until the air grew heavier, thicker, charged with something ancient and watchful.
The valley ended there.
What replaced it was not emptiness but order.
Stone steps descended into the earth, smoothed by centuries of use, etched with symbols I recognized only vaguely from half forgotten pack lore. These were not markings of a single pack. They belonged to something older. Neutral. Uncla
