Chapter 3 The Judgment of the Elders

Full moon dominated the night, bathing the forest in a spectral glow. The wind blew gently through the gnarled branches, carrying with it inaudible whispers, as if the earth itself were holding its breath.

At the heart of the sacred lair, where generations of Keibsters had succeeded one another, the elders had gathered. The circle was formed, their silhouettes motionless, imposing, each marked by the weight of centuries. Their fur bore the scars of their reign, their pale eyes reflected an often cruel wisdom.

At the center, Ramba, the Alpha, stood on his leadership rock, towering over the assembly. His dark coat contrasted with the moonlight, his imposing presence inspiring respect, but also defiance.

One of the older wolves, with a gray-marked muzzle and a deep voice, broke the silence.

"Your daughter is not worthy to lead us. Her heart is weak. She doubts, she hesitates, and she questions what makes us strong."

Others nodded slowly, their gazes falling on Ramba like a warning. This wasn't just a discussion. It was a judgment.

Ramba didn't answer right away. He raised his muzzle toward the moon, as if searching for an answer only he could understand. Then his gaze fell back on his pack mates, vibrant with determination.

"My blood knows no weakness. Alma is my daughter, and she will carry on our legacy, whether she likes it or not."

A rumble rippled through the circle, a wave of tension spreading through the night air.

Another elder, younger but equally influential, took a step forward.

"She defied the hunt. She hesitated in the face of prey."

Ramba narrowed his eyes, his breathing slow and controlled.

"She's different, but that doesn't make her an enemy."

"That makes her a danger," replied the old wolf.

The silence thickened, heavy with consequences.

Ramba knew he was defending more than just his daughter's name. He was defending his own honor, his own vision of power.

But there were many elders.

And they wouldn't give up their defiance so easily.

A cold murmur ran through the assembly of elders, a wave of barely contained shock and anger.

Kaelen had stepped into the circle without hesitation, his gaze hard, his voice calm but sharp as he revealed what he had seen.

"Alma didn't just hesitate during the hunt," he said. "She almost warned the humans, gave them a chance to flee before the pack reached them."

Rumblings rose among the elders, some louder than others.

"A betrayal."

"Unacceptable."

"It endangers our traditions."

Ramba, still standing on his rock of a leader, remained silent. But as the whispers intensified, he slowly lowered his head.

A terrible weight fell on his shoulders.

He knew Alma was different. He always had. Her outlook on the world wasn't that of a pure-bred Keibster; she possessed a fragment of humanity he'd never been able to explain.

But he never imagined that she would go so far as to challenge one of the most fundamental principles of their existence.

The elders were waiting for an answer.

Ramba took a deep breath before looking up.

His blood belonged to him. He had to defend it.

But for the first time, a doubt crept into him.

And he knew the pack wouldn't tolerate weakness in the leader's lineage.

The tension was palpable, heavy as a storm about to break. The full moon, hanging over the circle of elders, cast a spectral light on the stern faces of the assembled wolves.

Ramba, the Alpha, stood on his leader's rock, towering over the scene. His tense muscles beneath his dark fur spoke of suppressed anger, a fury that rose as the elders challenged his blood's honor.

Suddenly, his howl erupted through the night, a deep, powerful cry, making the earth vibrate beneath their paws. The young wolves asleep in their dens shuddered at the sound, and even the most experienced of the elders could not ignore the intensity of this display of power.

"Silence!" he roared, his breath short but his voice relentless.

He swept his burning gaze over the assembly, seeking to crush all opposition under his unquestioned authority.

"I am your leader. And no one here has the right to question the heir of my blood. Alma will lead this pack, whether she likes it or not, and all of you must respect her."

His tone was sharp, definitive, but the elders were not so easily intimidated.

One of them, a wolf with grizzled fur and pale eyes marked by age, advanced lightly, digging his claws into the soft earth with icy determination.

"Being Alpha doesn't mean your blood is above the laws of our pack, Ramba."

Another elder, with worn fangs but a firm voice, chimed in.

"You can impose your authority on us, but you cannot impose on us an heiress too weak to reign."

The whispers grew louder, discreet movements betraying the doubts creeping into the minds of the younger wolves.

Ramba felt his breath shorten, his rage boil inside him.

He knew he had to defend Alma, but he also knew that the more he opposed the elders, the more doubt took root in the pack.

And this doubt, if it were to grow, could be far more dangerous than any external threat.

He had to act, before his own power wavered.

The old she-wolf, known as Sylvara, walked slowly to the center of the circle. Her fur was marked by age, mixed with gray and silver, and her eyes, an almost unreal pale blue, seemed to see far beyond the present.

As the whispers still swirled around her, she lifted her muzzle slightly, imposing silence with her mere presence.

"There is only one way to answer this doubt," she declared in absolute calm.

The other elders stood still, attentive.

Sylvara turned her gaze to Ramba, then to the entire pack.

"Alma must pass the test of the Blood Moon."

A shudder ran through the gathered wolves. Some nodded in agreement, while others looked troubled.

The Blood Moon trial was ancient and feared. Few wolves had ever faced it.

Sylvara continued, her voice calm but relentless.

"She will have to leave the forest and live among humans. Her goal will be clear: to bring a soul back to the pack, to prove that her heart is strong enough to rule."

Ramba didn't respond immediately. He knew what this ordeal meant: Alma would be left to her own devices, far from the protection of the pack. She would have to survive, understand human nature, manipulate those she was to hunt, and return with proof of her strength.

Kaelen, still standing straight, looked at his Alpha with a glimmer of approval.

"If she fails," he murmured, "then we will have our answer."

Ramba closed his eyes for a moment. He had no choice.

He took a deep breath before opening his eyes and speaking the words that would seal his daughter's fate.

"Fine. Alma will pass the Blood Moon test."

And so, her future changed.

The forest would soon cease to be her only world.