The growls grew louder, reverberating through the chill night air. Alaric's fists clenched as the glowing eyes stepped closer, their owners emerging from the shadows. Wolves—but not ordinary ones. Their fur shimmered with an eerie, silver glow, and their eyes burned like embers. Their movements were unnaturally smooth, almost spectral, as if the forest itself had conjured them.
"Endure the night," the voice had said.
The words echoed in his mind, their weight pressing down on him like a leaden chain. He was no hunter, no warrior. He had no magic to summon fire or sharpen steel. His only weapon was a dull hatchet meant for chopping wood, leaning against the barn wall a few paces away.
The first wolf lunged.
Alaric dove to the side, rolling across the dirt as the beast's claws raked the air where he'd been standing. His heart thundered in his chest as he scrambled to his feet, darting toward the hatchet. Another wolf growled, cutting him off. It prowled closer, baring teeth that glinted in the moonlight.
"Stay back!" he shouted, his voice cracking. He bent, grabbing a fist-sized rock, and hurled it at the wolf. It struck the creature's flank, but it barely flinched.
The pack began to circle him. Four—no, five of them. Their low snarls filled the air, a deadly symphony that made his knees tremble. Alaric's mind raced, searching for an escape, a plan, anything.
Then the voice returned.
"Focus. Adapt."
"What does that even mean?!" he snapped, his frustration boiling over. But the wolves didn't wait for answers. The largest one, its silver fur streaked with black, leapt at him.
Instinct took over. Alaric dropped to the ground, letting the wolf sail over him, and grabbed the hatchet in one fluid motion. As the wolf turned, Alaric swung the hatchet with all his strength. The blade struck the beast's shoulder, not deep enough to kill but enough to make it yelp and retreat.
"Okay," he muttered, panting. "One down."
But the other wolves didn't hesitate. Two charged at once, their movements perfectly synchronized. Alaric barely managed to dodge the first, his shoulder colliding hard with the barn wall. The second wolf snapped at his leg, its teeth tearing through his trousers. Pain flared as blood trickled down his calf.
"No!" he shouted, slamming the hatchet's wooden handle against the wolf's snout. The creature snarled but let go, retreating with a growl.
"Pain is inevitable," the voice said. "Fear is optional. Fight."
Something in those words stirred him. He straightened, ignoring the burning in his leg. His breaths came fast and shallow, but his grip on the hatchet tightened. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. If he wanted to survive, he had to fight.
The wolves came at him again, but this time, Alaric didn't hesitate. He sidestepped the first and swung the hatchet in a wide arc, grazing the second. His movements were clumsy, untrained, but desperation made him quick. Each strike bought him seconds, and each second brought a flicker of hope.
But hope wasn't enough.
The largest wolf, the pack leader, circled behind him. Alaric barely had time to turn before it pounced, knocking him to the ground. The hatchet flew from his grasp, landing out of reach. The wolf's jaws snapped inches from his face, its hot breath washing over him.
"No! Get off!" he yelled, his hands straining against the creature's weight. Its claws raked his chest, drawing shallow cuts. Alaric's vision blurred with pain and panic.
And then he felt it.
A warmth in his chest, faint but growing. It spread through his limbs, chasing away the cold and dulling the pain. His mind cleared, and a strange calm settled over him.
"The blood stirs," the voice murmured.
Alaric's hand shot up, gripping the wolf's throat. The creature snarled, thrashing, but Alaric held firm. A strange strength coursed through him, unnatural for someone his size. He rolled, throwing the wolf off him, and scrambled to his feet. The pack hesitated, their glowing eyes narrowing.
Alaric didn't know what had changed, but he wasn't about to waste it. He grabbed the hatchet and faced the wolves, his stance steadier, his gaze sharper.
"Come on," he growled.
They came. But this time, he was ready.
When the sun rose, the clearing behind the barn was quiet. Alaric stood alone, his clothes torn and bloodied, his body aching from head to toe. The wolves were gone, their silver forms dissolved into mist as the first light of dawn touched the earth.
The glowing text returned, hovering before him:
Trial Complete.
Status: Survived.
Reward: Enhanced Vitality. System Level: 1.
Alaric sank to his knees, the hatchet slipping from his grasp. His chest heaved as relief washed over him. He'd done it. He'd survived.
But the voice spoke again, its tone colder this time. "This is only the beginning."