The tunnels beneath Threxa were alive.
Riven felt it the moment he stepped away from the den an oppressive awareness crawling across his skin, as though the stone itself was watching him. The underground world wasn't empty. It breathed. It listened. Every wall was marked with scents layered over centuries: dominance, fear, blood, submission.
Territory.
He didn't belong to any of it.
His footsteps were unsteady at first, but instinct quickly took over. He avoided wide passages without knowing why, favoring cramped corridors where the ceiling dipped low and the walls closed in. Somewhere deep in his mind, the wolf whispered warnings open space means death.
Hunger gnawed at him.
Not the dull ache of a missed meal, but a sharp, consuming pull that twisted his insides. His body demanded fuel meat, blood, something living. The realization terrified him more than the darkness.
"I won't," he muttered, forcing himself forward. "I won't become that."
But the hunger didn't care about promises.
He found water first an underground stream flowing silently through a cracked channel in the stone. He dropped to his knees and drank greedily, the cold shock helping steady his thoughts. As he lifted his head, his reflection shimmered in the dark surface.
He barely recognized himself.
His face was leaner, sharper. His eyes once dark now held a faint amber glow that flared whenever his heart raced. Thin scars traced his neck where the Alpha's claws had nearly ended his life, already half-healed.
"I'm still human," he whispered.
The words felt weak.
A sudden shift in the air snapped his attention upward.
Footsteps.
Not rushing. Not hiding.
Confident.
Riven backed away slowly, every muscle tightening as three figures emerged from the tunnel ahead. They moved with ease, their bodies relaxed, eyes sharp. Low Wolves but experienced ones. Survivors who had learned how to prey on their own rank.
"Well, look at this," the tallest one said, lips curling into a grin. "Fresh blood."
Riven's instincts screamed run but there was nowhere to go.
"I don't want trouble," he said, keeping his voice steady.
That made them laugh.
"Low Wolves don't get wants," another replied. "Only food… or prey."
The first one lunged.
Riven barely had time to react. He twisted aside as claws sliced through the air where his throat had been. His body moved before thought claws erupting from his fingers, raking across the attacker's leg. Bone cracked. The wolf howled, staggering backward in shock.
Pain exploded across Riven's ribs as the second struck him hard, slamming him into the wall. Stone bit into his back. His vision blurred.
Get up.
He forced himself upright as the third advanced, eyes glowing with cruel excitement. This wasn't a frenzy like the night he awakened. This was controlled violence trained predators testing a new kill.
Riven focused.
Breathing slowed. Fear sharpened into clarity.
He remembered his mother standing her ground. Remembered how she hadn't screamed. Hadn't begged.
When the third wolf attacked, Riven stepped into the strike instead of away from it. The narrow tunnel worked in his favor. He slashed upward, claws tearing across the wolf's chest, then drove his shoulder forward with everything he had.
The fight turned brutal and close. Claws scraped stone. Teeth snapped inches from flesh. Riven took wounds deep ones but each time his body healed faster than the attackers expected.
Their confidence wavered.
"You said he was weak!" one snarled.
Riven didn't answer.
When it ended, he stood alone in the tunnel, chest heaving, hands shaking. One wolf lay unconscious. Another crawled away in terror. The third didn't move at all.
Riven stared at the blood coating his hands.
"I didn't want this," he whispered again.
Something shifted inside his chest.
The fracture in his Lunar Core tightened, stabilizing just enough to hold. Strength flowed more cleanly now not explosive, but controlled. His senses sharpened without overwhelming him.
Low Wolf Initiate had become Awakened.
Riven felt it settle into place like a grim truth.
He sank against the wall, exhausted.
Far away beyond the tunnels, beyond Threxa, beyond mortal reach darkness stirred.
In the territory of the Third Order, shadows peeled away from the walls as Nyxara Veilborne opened her eyes. Her presence swallowed the chamber in silence.
"So," the Umbral King murmured softly, lips curving into a slow smile, "the hunted one adapts."
Her shadow stretched unnaturally, reaching across the floor like a living thing.
"Send the Whisper," she commanded. "I want him afraid before he learns confidence."
The hunt was no longer local.
It was official, every order was now after him.