The fire crackled softly, throwing flickers of orange against the dark underbrush. It had been nearly a week since the boar hunt. The pain in his side had dulled to a memory, the bruises faded into his skin like old ink. He could feel his body changing—quicker to move, slower to tire, sharper when still. The forest wasn't foreign anymore. It was his map, his mirror, his testing ground. Darius sat still, a strip of smoked boar meat in his hand, eyes fixed on the treeline.
They had come.
One by one, they emerged from the shadows—eight in total, silent and massive. Each one larger than the wolf he'd hunted with. Broad shoulders, thick necks, heavy paws that moved without sound. Predators. Warriors.
And then the last stepped into view.
The alpha.
Towering. Scarred. His coat was dark and dense, his eyes sharp as flint. He didn't slink or stalk—he owned the space around him. Power radiated from his frame, from the slow, deliberate way he moved. Darius felt it in his chest like pressure before a storm.
Each of them could easily outweigh him—forty, maybe fifty kilograms of pure muscle and instinct. Still, none of them came closer than the trees. They lingered at the edge of the clearing. Not attacking. Not retreating. Watching.
If they meant to kill him, he'd already be dead.
So he kept eating.
He tore a piece of meat from the strip and held it up, motioning with two fingers toward the familiar wolf. He had started calling him Red. Not aloud, not yet—but the name stuck in his head. White fur, always stained with crimson after the hunt. It suited him. And in a strange way, naming the wolf made things feel… less temporary.—the one who had stayed by his side. The one who had helped take down the boar.
The wolf crept forward, calm but alert, and accepted the food without hesitation.
Darius didn't look away from the others.
They stayed in the shadows. Just far enough to avoid the firelight, just close enough to remind him they were there.
Not a hunting party. Not a threat. Not yet.
They were waiting.
Then he understood.
His companion hadn't just returned to the pack.
He had brought the pack to him.
Darius narrowed his eyes.
"Why?"
Wolves hunted in groups. They were the apex of the forest—not afraid of men, not even of fire. And yet here they were, keeping their distance, watching him.
Not from hunger. Not from curiosity.
From caution.
What did they see in him?
What were they afraid of?
Even after thinking it over while he ate, Darius couldn't reach a conclusion.
He racked his brain, but nothing made sense.
There were no natural predators in Greece more dangerous than a wolf—not in these mountains, not in this forest. Bears were rare, shy. Lions had disappeared generations ago. The only thing that could intimidate a full-grown pack like this…
Humans.
That was the only answer that fit.
Something—or someone—was out there, pushing the wolves toward him. For protection? Territory? He couldn't tell.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
As long as they weren't a threat, he welcomed them.
If that changed... he'd use every trap, every spear, every sharpened stick and jagged rock to kill as many as he could before they tore him apart.
Simple as that.
By late afternoon, the sun had started to dip, bleeding gold through the canopy.
The hours passed quietly. He cleaned his weapons. Checked his traps. Fed the fire. The wolves stayed at the edge, never stepping fully into his space. Still, they didn't leave either. That tension—their presence, his stillness—it was almost meditative.
Darius stood, stretched his arms, and strapped the bow across his back. He glanced at the wolf—his wolf—who sat a few paces from the fire, eyes half-closed but alert.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
It wasn't hunger, not really. He still had meat. Enough for days.
But more was better.
And truth be told, he just wanted to hunt.
To move. To feel the forest again. To learn.
The wolf rose without a sound, muscles rippling beneath thick fur, and followed as Darius stepped into the trees.
Not behind.
Beside.
From the Alpha's Eyes
The creature before him was a boy.
Small. Dark-haired. Maybe eight winters old by human standards—though he did not know the exact measure. Slightly taller than most cubs he'd seen, his body was wiry, muscles already carved into the limbs of a creature that had no right to look so grown.
It was like staring at a man in miniature.
When the alpha stepped into the clearing, he expected fear.
The others always feared him.
But this one didn't.
He didn't shrink. Didn't tremble. Didn't even look up. He sat by the fire, chewing calmly, occasionally tossing scraps to the young one who had led them here.
The alpha felt… insulted.
What gave this hairless pup the confidence—or arrogance—to ignore the presence of the pack?
What kind of prey didn't flinch?
He circled the clearing, just at the edge of the light, studying him. The scent was strange. Smoke. Sweat. Ash. But also blood. Not fresh. Old. Carried deep in the skin.
A hunter's scent.
When the sun began to fall, painting the forest in copper and flame, the boy spoke to the young one—his young one. The alpha recognized his gait, his frame, his spirit. Still lean, still learning… but promising.
His son.
He had smelled change on him. Death. Smoke. Blood. But also something deeper. The boy was no longer just surviving. He was becoming something else. Something dangerous. The Alpha didn't know what it was yet—but it stirred an old instinct. One he hadn't felt since his first fight for dominance.
They moved toward the trees. Together. Not master and pet. Not predator and scavenger.
Partners.
The alpha followed, silent as wind, curious now.
What game would they play?
He didn't wait long.
The hunt was swift. Coordinated. Clean.
No wasted motion. No useless snarling or bravado. The boy tracked, read the signs, flanked with purpose. The young one mirrored him—herded, pushed, struck.
When the kill came, it was over in seconds.
The alpha tilted his head.
This was not luck.
It was instinct.
It was skill.
It was… pack.
He stayed in the shadows, watching them share the meat, no dominance displays, no fights over scraps. A balance, imperfect but natural.
Maybe…
Maybe this strange little human wasn't prey after all.
Days passed.
The forest no longer challenged him. It obeyed.
Every morning, the pack moved with him—silent shadows weaving through the trees. The hunts grew cleaner, faster. The wolves no longer hesitated to follow his signals. Even the alpha adjusted his position when Darius pointed or gestured.
They hunted as one.
It wasn't survival anymore.
It was domination.
And yet… the question gnawed at him.
Why?
Why would the apex predators of these woods follow a boy? Was it just the promise of easier food? Less risk?
Or was there something else?
He didn't have the answer.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just about the meat.
One morning, with the sky still painted in gray and gold, Darius felt the urge to explore.
Westward.
Farther than usual. Past his traps. Past the familiar creeks and hunting trails.
The wolves followed, as they always did. Their paws gliding across leaves and moss, eyes sharp.
At first, the forest seemed the same—same trees, same birdsong, same light filtering through the canopy.
But something was off.
He couldn't explain it.
The air felt heavier. The shadows longer. Even the ground seemed more silent.
And the wolves...
They were cautious.
Too cautious.
Not alert—afraid.
Their ears twitched. Their steps slowed. Their breathing changed.
Darius narrowed his eyes, unsure whether to keep going.
Then he saw it.
Ten, maybe twenty meters away—clawed marks gouged deep into the bark of an old oak. Deep. Wide. High.
Not wolves.
He stepped closer, squinting.
No bear could've made that.
No tiger lived in these lands.
He chuckled under his breath, trying to keep it light.
"Some kind of mutant wolf?" he muttered, smirking.
But he didn't laugh for long.
The scratches were too real.
Too powerful.
Enough to change his mind.
Not today.
Maybe later.
He turned back, motioning to the wolves.
Time to leave.
But something stopped him.
A presence.
Heavy. Imposing. Ancient.
He felt it in his spine before he heard it.
Then the sound came.
A low rumble rising into a deafening roar—
RRRAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGHHH!
He froze.
And there it was.
Between the trees, a shape emerged—massive, golden, regal. Muscles rippled beneath its coat like coiled ropes. A thick mane blew gently in the breeze, catching the light like fire.
The wolves didn't move.
Neither did Darius.
The creature stood tall, unbothered by the pack, its amber eyes locked onto him alone.
The forest held its breath.
And after a long silence, Darius exhaled and muttered:
"…A fucking lion? Seriously?"