Everyone knows the tale of the Dyatlov Pass, the mysterious tragedy that took the lives of nine hikers in Russia's Ural Mountains. It’s been dissected, debated, and immortalized as an unsolvable puzzle. Official reports mention avalanche, exposure, and panic. Some even whisper of extraterrestrial encounters or Soviet experiments gone awry. But none of these versions are true. No, the real story is much darker, more primal.

Sit close, traveler. Warm your hands by the fire, and let me tell you of the Hellhound Forge—an ancient wolf pack that still haunts the frigid passes of the Urals. Led by Jaden, a creature feared by even the wildest beasts, this pack has left its mark on the darkest corners of Russian folklore.

The Hellhound Forge is no ordinary pack. These wolves are the descendants of dire wolves, ancient beasts that once ruled over the forests of Siberia. Stronger, larger, and far more savage than their modern counterparts, they’ve thrived in the desolate wilderness where no man dares tread. At their helm is Jaden, a black-furred leviathan of a wolf. He is said to be as tall as a Kodiak bear, with eyes the color of glacial ice, capable of freezing your blood with a single glance.

Jaden is not just a leader but a force of nature—a predator with the strength of a Siberian tiger and the cunning of a seasoned hunter. His hatred of humans knows no bounds. No one knows why, but those who venture too deep into his territory never return to tell the tale. His pack is more than just wolves. They are the embodiment of fear, born from the blood-soaked earth of the Pass, where the bones of the lost lie scattered like grim offerings.

In the winter of 1959, as the Dyatlov group set out to explore the harsh wilderness, they unknowingly wandered into Jaden's domain. Their journey was not just plagued by frostbite and fierce winds, but by something far worse—the feeling of being watched, of shadows too large and too swift to be human.

The group documented strange sightings: eyes glowing from the trees, the distant howl of creatures too large to be wolves. As their unease grew, so did the pack’s hunger. Jaden had sensed their presence long before they knew they were being hunted. With each passing night, the wolves grew bolder, circling the camp, their eyes gleaming in the dark. The group had no idea the pack had already marked them as prey.

And then, the final night came. The hikers' tents, slashed open from within, bore the marks of madness. The cold alone didn’t drive them from their shelter. It was fear—pure, animalistic fear. Some tried to flee, half-dressed, into the snowstorm, while others fought a losing battle against unseen predators.

Jaden and his pack descended upon them like shadows, silent and deadly. The hikers’ remains, when found, were a macabre puzzle: bones crushed with the force of something far stronger than any human, bodies lying under the snow as though something—or someone—had watched their terror unfold, reveling in it.

The Hellhound Forge leaves no survivors. Their den is filled with the remnants of those foolish enough to trespass, bones stacked like trophies, a testament to the pack’s dominance. And yet, they remain unseen, always a whisper in the wind, always lurking at the edge of vision.

So, young traveler, if you ever find yourself near the Dyatlov Pass, heed this warning: the Hellhound Forge is still out there, with Jaden at the lead. They are not wolves to be trifled with, and their land is not to be crossed. Should you ignore the warnings and venture into their territory, know that you may not live to tell the tale.

The wolves will watch, and they will wait, until your last breath becomes part of the cold, silent night.