Nathan's gaze swept over the cavernous chamber, his sharp eyes narrowing as the shadows shifted with movement. A dozen wolves prowled the den, each towering nearly three meters high—monstrous beasts whose sheer size made the gladiators look small, almost insignificant. Their fur bristled like sharpened spears, their fangs glinted white in the flickering torchlight, and their yellow eyes gleamed with hunger.
This was no natural lair. The place reeked of contrivance. The den was carved too neatly into the stone, the ground littered with gnawed bones planted like grim decorations. The walls bore claw marks too uniform, too deliberate. This was no accident of nature—it was an arena. A carefully constructed trap.
The architects of the tournament had gone to great lengths to make it so, and Nathan understood why. This was no ordinary competition. This was a crucible designed to forge—or destroy—those who dared pursue Pandora.
