The wolves howled beneath the mountain.
Their voices rose through the stone like ancient hymns, shaking dust from scaffolds, making workers pause mid-step. The first time it happened, half the crew dropped their tools, wide-eyed, whispering about ghosts in the tunnels.
But to me, it was proof.
The sanctuary was alive now. Breathing. Singing.
I spent hours in the forest biome, moving slowly among the wolves. The saplings stretched higher under artificial sunlight, leaves unfurling like eager hands. Water cascaded down the stone walls, mist curling in the air. It was no longer just scaffolds and concrete — it was becoming a forest.
The wolves roamed cautiously, circling, testing boundaries. They drank from the reservoirs, sniffed the soil, paced the artificial rivers. At first, their eyes were wild, suspicious.
But my voice — the altered, resonant voice — reached them. Not commands. Not control. Just presence.
The alpha would approach first, scarred muzzle brushing against my hand. The juveniles followed, playful, testing. Their trust came slowly, but it came.
Every night, I whispered to them: You are safe. You are home.
And every night, their howls answered, rising to the ceiling, echoing through the mountain.
But outside the sanctuary, the consequences of their rescue rippled outward.
Marcus slammed a file onto the table one morning, his jaw set tight. "They're talking."
The folder spilled with surveillance photos, intercepted messages. Poacher networks. Cartels. Hunters.
"They think a rival crew hit them," Marcus said. "But rumors spread fast. Too fast. A convoy ambushed, wolves stolen, guards beaten. Someone's asking the wrong questions."
Elara glanced at me, her brow furrowed. "How long before they trace it here?"
"Not long enough," Marcus muttered, lighting a cigarette. Smoke curled between us like warning. "You've started a war, kid. And wars have a way of finding you."
I looked down at the photos. Men with rifles. Trucks packed with cages. Money exchanging hands.
The wolves' eyes flashed in my memory — wild, afraid, alive.
"Then let them come," I said quietly. My throat ached, my voice vibrating low. "This place isn't for them. It's for the ones they hunt."
Elara wasn't so easily convinced.
She stormed into the heart chamber later, her hands streaked with grease, her face hard. "Do you understand what you've done?"
"Yes," I said simply.
She threw her clipboard onto the table, blueprints scattering. "No, you don't. You think building this sanctuary is the hard part? Steel, stone, water systems — those I can control. But human greed? Violence? The moment they realize what you're building, they'll come for it. And they'll burn it to the ground."
Her words echoed through the chamber, sharp as any blade.
I didn't flinch. "Then we'll build it stronger than they can burn."
She stared at me, her breath ragged, her fists clenched. For a long moment, the only sound was water dripping from the reservoirs.
Then, slowly, her shoulders dropped. "You're impossible."
A faint smile tugged at my lips. "You've said that before."
This time, she almost smiled back. Almost.
That night, I returned to the biome.
The wolves circled in the artificial dusk, their eyes glinting in the UV glow. The alpha stood on a ridge of rock, silhouetted against the false sky, its howl splitting the chamber. The juveniles tumbled in the grass below, their paws clumsy, their play fierce.
I knelt by the artificial river, letting the water wash over my hands. My voice rose, raw and resonant, carrying through the chamber.
The wolves stilled. Then, one by one, they answered, their howls weaving with my voice until it felt like the chamber itself was singing.
This was why I had built it.
Not for empire. Not for legacy.
For this.
Life.
But even as the howls rose, I knew Marcus was right. Elara too.
The wolves were safe — for now. But the sanctuary's first success was also its first risk.
And outside the valley, the hunters were already whispering.