The chamber seemed to shrink as Erebus rose to its full height. Two and a half meters of pure muscle and shadow towered over Loren Vance, each step of its claws clicking against the stone floor, sending vibrations through the soles of his boots. Its scarred cheek glowed faintly in the dim light, like a brand of survival earned from battles that would have crushed lesser creatures.
The wolf's eyes glimmered—two pits of deep crimson, cold and merciless.
And yet, despite the beast's terrifying presence, Loren felt a strange, fleeting sense of confidence. His sword was steady in his hands, the polished steel catching what little glow the room allowed. He had trained for this. He had stood against Misha Frostine in front of hundreds and proven he could weather humiliation. But this time, the stakes were higher—and the glory, so much greater.
If he won, his name would resound not only in Moonspring but across the Human Domain. Even if he lost, he could still spin this into legend.
