Transcended

VLAMWOOD

RIVERVILLE

"Safety!"

The urgent cry of the scouts merged with the shrill clang of the pack's metal bell, slicing through the night.

Howls echoed in chaos. Clothes tore, bones snapped, and the ground trembled beneath the stampede of shifting bodies, wolves of weak, stunted forms scrambling in fear. Infants wailed, warriors rushed, and panic spread like wildfire.

Everyone surged toward the basement of the royal house, their only sanctuary.

"Rogues!"

A warrior stumbled into the room, breathless, his chest heaving. He barely got the word out before Gamma Chlyde, standing by the window, tensed. His furrowed brow deepened.

"Let's go!"

Without hesitation, Chlyde stormed out, his bow slung around his neck, arrows rattling in their quiver. The warrior fell in step behind him, fastening his weapons to his belt.

Tens of rogues against hundreds of them, yet it was the Riverville Pack at the rogues' mercy. Their wolves were weak, their bodies small, their weapons crude. All they had was the will to fight.

The battle raged for an hour, but the outcome was inevitable. The rogues, emboldened by their strength, pushed forward until the Riverville warriors, battered and bleeding, had no choice but to retreat.

And just like that, silence reclaimed the night.

High above the province, Sebastene Miles stood alone, the wind raking through his hair. His jaw was tight, his chest heavy.

From the peak, he could see the distant glow of pack settlements, where wolves thrived under the moon's blessing. Packs untainted by divine wrath. Packs he should have belonged to.

Bitterness coiled inside him.

"Alpha, let's return," Chlyde said softly. He stood a few steps behind, hesitant. He had seen his leader lost in thought too many times, and every time, he wished he could offer comfort. But their burdens were the same.

Sebastene turned sharply, his eyes burning. "How many times must I tell you, Chlyde?"

A weak smile flickered across Chlyde's face. "No matter how many times, you are my alpha. And I will address you as such."

Sebastene let out a hollow laugh, void of humor. "Really? Your alpha? Does it not shame you to say it?"

Chlyde's smile faltered. He heard the pain beneath the mockery. This was their fate, one they had been born into, one they had no power to change.

"And a great one, Alpha Sebastene."

A deep sigh broke through the stillness of the night. Sebastene gestured toward him.

"Stand beside me."

Chlyde obeyed, stepping up to the edge of the peak.

"Look," Sebastene murmured, eyes scanning the land. "The moon shines for them, but we are cast in darkness."

He exhaled sharply. "The rogues attacked today, Chlyde. Tell me, how many did we lose?"

Chlyde hesitated. "Twenty."

Sebastene arched a brow. "Mmmh. Twenty... with children. And how many did we manage to kill?"

"...Three." His voice was barely a whisper, thick with grief.

Sebastene clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and bitter. "Bravo! They take twenty, and we take three. What an accomplishment."

He was an alpha in name only. A leader who could not protect his people. A warrior who had no strength to fight. His pack fought with steel instead of claws, arrows instead of fangs. They were werewolves in name but nothing more than defenseless outcasts.

Chlyde turned his gaze downward. The province stretched far and wide, but here-where Riverville stood, there was only darkness.

"This is our burden, Alpha. You cannot change it. You can only endure it."

Sebastene's lips curled. "Endure it? How? I wasn't even born when this curse was cast."

"Neither was I. Nor were many of our people. But our ancestors endured. Our parents endured. So must we."

Life was not a choice; it was a fate handed down through generations. To survive, one had to accept.

"You are the Alpha of Riverville," Chlyde reminded him firmly. "We may be weak, but we look to you for strength. We may grieve, but we look to you for hope. We may hunger, but we look to you for provision."

He pointed toward the pack's land, shrouded in shadows.

"There, in the darkness, are souls who depend on you. My Alpha, your pack is waiting."

Sebastene clenched his jaw. His pack was waiting.

If only the goddess had been merciful.

"Let's return," he said at last.

With that, they shifted into their wolves and ran down the peak.

The pack had gathered in front of the royal house. Some cradled their wounded loved ones, others held their dead. Some wept softly, others stared blankly, grief carved into their faces.

Even from a distance, Sebastene could feel the weight of their despair.

He shifted back to human form. A servant rushed forward, draping a robe over his bare shoulders, but he hardly felt it. He strode toward the elevated platform, swallowing the bile of helplessness rising in his throat.

"Go home," he commanded, voice steady despite the ache in his chest. "Mourn the dead. Tend to the injured. Console the brokenhearted."

At his word, they dispersed.

Sebastene turned away, his steps heavy.

He wished he could give them hope. He wished he could promise that their suffering would end. But how could he offer hope when the truth was right in front of them?

Long ago, Alpha Cyrus of Riverville had been the most powerful ruler in Vlamwood. Feared. Respected. Unchallenged.

Until the day he was challenged, and refused to accept defeat.

Ignoring the warnings of his council, Cyrus did the unthinkable. He crossed into human territory, seeking their forbidden aid.

The sky darkened for days. The moon vanished. A sign of the goddess Serene's wrath.

The seers delivered her judgment.

When Cyrus returned, he was ambushed. He shifted to fight-but his once mighty wolf had shrunk into a frail, pathetic form. His strength was gone. His mate bond severed.

And his curse? It spread to every loyal warrior who had followed him.

From that moment, the Riverville Pack was banished. Outcasts. Forbidden to associate with other wolves. Lesser beings.

Their ancestors had condemned them. And now, they paid the price.

Just as Alpha Sebastene drowned in his thoughts, the heavy doors of the court slammed open.

Marco stormed inside, fury rolling off him in waves. His chest heaved, fists clenched at his sides. His face was a mask of anger.

Sebastene didn't look up. He knew why his Gamma was here. It was the same reason every time.

"You let them die, Alpha," Marco growled. "And you do nothing."

Sebastene exhaled slowly, bracing himself. Silence wouldn't help this time.

His voice came low and sharp. "What do you expect me to do? This is our fate, Gamma."

Marco's eyes burned. "A fate that we can change!"

Sebastene's irritation flared. "How? Generations before us did nothing, and you think you can?"

"They didn't. But that doesn't mean we can't!" Marco stepped closer, his glare defiant. "You're just a weak alpha."

Sebastene's fury snapped. "Get out, Marco!"

But Marco only laughed. A sharp, scornful sound.

He leaned in, voice cold. "If I don't? You have no wolf strength to stop me. You are no better than the alphas before you."

Silence.

Then, his tone softened. Persuasive. "Use the wolfsbane. And we will be free."

Sebastene's anger twisted into something heavier.

"No."

Marco's lips curled. "I am forty eight, Alpha. I have two years left to live. I am not afraid to risk everything."

Sebastene's jaw tightened.

"I, Alpha Sebastene of Riverville, will not be part of this."

He turned and walked out.

Marco watched him go, then chuckled darkly.

"I don't need you to be."

BROLN PACK

Alora moved swiftly through the kitchen, her tired hands inspecting the steaming pots of food. She checked the neatly cut vegetables on the work surface before lifting a ladle to taste the boiling sauce.

Satisfied, she nodded, hoping no one had seen her, getting caught would mean more than harsh words; it would mean bruises.

The entire pack bustled with activity. Warriors carried instruments and furniture into the grand hall, children ran about, dancing to the festive music that filled the air.

Today was a monumental occasion. The Alpha was taking his second mate, officially crowning her as Luna. This wasn't just a union but a bond between two powerful packs.

As tradition dictated, alphas from neighboring provinces were expected to attend.

Alora had been left alone to prepare all the meals. Hours before dawn, while others were sound asleep or returning from their hunts, she had begun cooking.

Now, drenched in sweat, her dress clung to her skin, carrying the pungent mix of spices and her own unwashed scent. The stench made her gag, but she pushed through, this was the last pot.

"Hey, wimp! Why are you slacking? The guests are almost here!"

Thalia stormed into the kitchen, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room before settling on Alora. Displeasure twisted her face.

"Is there anything you can do right, pup?" she sneered. "Get your useless self on that stool and scrub those dishes!"

Though an omega, Thalia seized any chance to exert dominance. Alora hurried to obey, scrubbing the plates with aching hands. Sweat dripped down her forehead; she wiped it with the back of her soapy palm, leaving foam on her face. They could have assigned someone to help, but no, they wouldn't be satisfied unless she was utterly exhausted. Not that she'd get to eat the food she spent hours making. That, too, was forbidden.

"Disgusting," Thalia scoffed before dipping a spoon into the pot. She tasted the sauce, smacked her lips, and gave a reluctant nod. "Not bad. At least the pup can cook." With that, she strutted out, her superiority evident in every step.

Alora swallowed the insult, but resentment burned in her chest. Twice, she had been called 'pup', a name she despised.

Who was Thalia to order her around? Just another errand girl, a nobody. And Alora? She was the daughter of the former Beta. She should be giving orders, not scrubbing plates like a lowly servant.

She finished cleaning, wiped down the kitchen, and slipped away to the abandoned stable that served as her room. She wanted to change her filthy dress, but exhaustion dragged her to the thin mattress. The moment her body hit the bed, sleep took her.

A gentle tap roused her.

Blinking, she saw a familiar face and relief flooded her. "Duane? What are you doing here?" she murmured, rubbing her tired eyes.

He chuckled. "And what is my pookie doing here?"

She frowned in confusion, glancing around the tiny space, a sagging bed, a sack in the corner that held her clothes. "This is my room, Duane."

He smirked. "While the hall is packed full?"

Panic shot through her. "Oh no!" She bolted upright, nearly stumbling as she grabbed the sack and overturned it in frantic search of a dress.

"I'm doomed!"

She stripped off her dirty gown without hesitation, unbothered by Duane's presence. What was there to hide? Her body was nothing but skin and bones now.

Duane looked away, his jaw tightening. At sixteen, she had been vibrant, full of life, until everything was stolen from her.

Now, she was a ghost of who she used to be. His heart ached at the sight, and he blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Alora yanked out an old pair of shoes, slipping them on before grabbing his arm. "Let's go!"

He didn't move.

Frowning, she looked up at him, searching his face. Instead of answering, he wrapped his arms around her frail body, wiping away the dirt from her face with his thumb.

"Everything will be okay, Lora," he murmured.

A bitter part of her mind screamed at the lie, but she silenced it with a weak smile.

Duane held her hand as they hurried to the pack hall. Attendance was mandatory for all wolves above sixteen. Given a choice, she would have stayed in the stable, curled up in her miserable excuse for a bed. The hall wasn't meant for someone like her. There, she was nothing but an object of ridicule.

The moment they arrived, dread gripped her.

"Don't worry," Duane reassured, leading her to the back. "I saved us seats."

But Alora's hands had already begun to tremble. Sweat pooled in her palms, her pulse pounded in her ears. Stepping into that hall, under those piercing gazes, felt like walking into a pit of vipers.

Her grip tightened on Duane's. He leaned close, whispering, "I'm here."

His presence grounded her, giving her just enough courage to follow.

As they sat, she scanned the crowd, searching.

"Looking for them?" Duane asked softly.

Her throat tightened. Of course, she was looking for them. The ones who had raised her, then abandoned her.

"How are they?" she whispered.

Duane scoffed. "You still care about them?"

She had no answer.

Her gaze wandered toward the stage where alphas from other provinces sat in their jewel-encrusted garments. Their power radiated off them.

"You look pale," Duane muttered, his eyes still forward. "Did they hit you again?"

She shook her head.

He sighed. "You know, your eyes shine when you lie. It makes you look beautiful."

His teasing tone pulled a small, fleeting smile from her. Even if his words were empty, they warmed her battered soul.

Then, a commotion at the entrance snapped their attention away.

A towering man strode in, his regalia sweeping the floor, his presence impossible to ignore. Alpha Donovan of the Herith Pack. The most powerful alpha after Floyd-the one who had conquered countless lands and owned the largest pack. His daughter, Hera, had been chosen as Floyd's mate.

On his left walked Hera, radiant and elegant, her beauty dazzling. On his right, another striking woman in royal attire, undoubtedly his Luna. Behind them trailed an entourage of warriors.

They moved toward the stage, where Floyd and the other alphas sat in anticipation.

The moment Donovan took his seat, the ceremony commenced.

Broln's Beta stepped forward. "We are honored by your presence. This union between our packs marks a new era of peace and prosperity. We welcome Hera as our next Luna."

Applause thundered through the hall, joy buzzing in the air.

But within Alora, a storm raged.

She should be the one up there.

It should be her seated beside Floyd, draped in royal silks, claiming the title of Luna. But the Moon Goddess had deemed her unworthy, had cursed her with this defect, this stain that had stripped her of everything.

Duane saw the shadows darkening her face, the pain she tried to bury.

"Bonny, don't let this get to you," he whispered.

But it was too late.

Tears burned her eyes, spilling down her cheeks before she could stop them.

"Not here, Lora, please," Duane begged, pulling her close, wiping them away.

She tried to contain them, but the more she fought, the harder they fell.

"What will I do if you ruin this pretty face?" he teased, desperate to make her smile.

She forced one, small and fragile. "Thank you."

He squeezed her hand. "Tomorrow will be better."

She nodded, swallowing her sorrow.

Even if she didn't believe it.

She was the daughter of a beta, yet the most despised. Despite her beauty and kind heart, she was incomplete. At twenty, she still hadn't met her wolf.

Fate bound her to Alpha Floyd, but instead of cherishing her, he loathed her for what she lacked. Rejection should have been inevitable, yet for reasons known only to him, he kept her.

Left at the mercy of the palace wolves, including the lowest ranked omegas, cruelty became her closest companion. She recognized its voice, its scent, its very essence.

Her father, once the pack's esteemed beta, could have defended her, but his disdain ran deeper than the Alpha's. As for her mother, she bore only regret, ashamed of the daughter she saw as a disgrace.

In the entire Broln Pack, she was the only one beyond sixteen without a wolf. Duanne clung to the hope that she was merely a late bloomer, but even he knew it was more wishful thinking than truth.

Barred from her parents' home and with nowhere else to go, she endured the torment of the royal house. As long as she had food to eat and a roof over her head, she convinced herself it was enough.

She couldn't leave, becoming a rogue meant a fate worse than death.

Now, at the peak of the ceremony, Alpha Denovan placed his daughter's hand in Floyd's, sealing their union. She was officially named the Luna of the Broln Pack.

Then came the moment she dreaded most, the part of the ceremony where every wolf transformed, bowing in reverence to their Alpha and Luna.

The moment that would bare her weakness to the entire pack.

At the beta's command, the air filled with the sickening sound of bones snapping and fabric tearing as the pack shifted.

Alora dropped to her knees, desperate to make herself invisible, to conceal the cruel truth of her existence. But then, a sharp pain hammered in her skull, the world spun around her, and a shiver crawled down her spine.

A dark, looming shadow stretched over her.

Floyd, in his wolf form, prowled through the crowd, his piercing gaze sweeping over the gathered wolves. His amber eyes burned with fury.

Then came the howls, rising from every corner, a haunting melody of submission and celebration.

Floyd's powerful wolf surged forward, his Luna, a sleek brown furred wolf, moving in perfect harmony beside him. Behind them, the other alphas and their entourages followed in a regal procession.

The rest of the pack joined in, their massive forms trotting around in elation, their howls blending in a deafening chorus to welcome their new Luna.

But Alora remained frozen, still kneeling, her pulse drumming in her ears.

The shadow had not moved. It was still there, towering over her.

Her eyes clenched shut as cold sweat beaded on her skin. Then suddenly, she was weightless.

A powerful force lifted her off the ground, and a rush of wind slammed against her face.

Was she... flying?

She couldn't tell. Fear kept her eyes sealed tight, her body rigid with uncertainty.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. A soft surface cradled her, the familiar scent of her tiny room grounding her. Slowly, she forced her eyes open.

She was on her bed.

And beside her, looming, massive, and unmistakable, was Moro.

Duanne's wolf.

The shadow from the hall.

Realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Moro had shielded her, had saved her from disgrace.

Duanne stood above her, his presence a silent barrier against the cruelty of the world.

Tears burned in her eyes as gratitude swelled in her chest. Scrambling off the bed, she turned to the large wolf, her lips curving into the first true smile in what felt like an eternity.

Moro whined softly, his tail flicking before he turned and disappeared into the night.

"Thank you, cousin," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Alora curled onto her bed, desperate for the escape of sleep, but peace was a luxury she was never granted.

"Piggy!!"

The familiar insult cut through the silence like a blade.

Her old wooden door, the only frail barrier between her and the cruel world outside, creaked violently as it was shoved open. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"The Alpha demands your presence!"

An omega girl stood in the doorway, her face twisted in disgust. Without warning, a worn-out shoe flew through the air, hitting Alora's arm before landing on the floor with a dull thud. The girl scoffed and disappeared into the darkness.

Alora remained still for a moment, dread coiling in her stomach. The Alpha never summoned her unless he intended to humiliate, taunt, or punish her.

Her head throbbed as anxiety tightened its grip, but she had no choice. Moving on autopilot, she slid into her tattered flip-flops and made her way to the court.

With every step, her fingers twitched, her breath shallowed. The closer she got, the heavier the weight on her chest grew.

Finally, she stood before the massive metal doors. Her trembling hand pressed against her chest, feeling the erratic rise and fall of her breath.

What awaited her inside?

Steeling herself, she drew in a shaky breath and stepped forward.

Floyd lounged on the royal sofa, but something was different. His Luna sat beside him, their hands intertwined, a silent display of unity.

The moment the woman's eyes landed on Alora, something shifted. A jolt of recognition surged through her veins.

"She's his mate."

The bond between them was undeniable, stronger than the fragile thread she, the Luna shared with him. This woman was his first, his true mate.

But as she took in Alora's ragged appearance, a wave of smug relief washed over her. If Floyd had ever truly wanted her, she would not look like this. If he valued her, she would be standing beside him as his Luna, not discarded like an afterthought. Even the lowest omegas were better kept than her.

Alora forced herself to speak, her voice barely steady. "You sent for me, my Alpha."

The weight of his gaze pinned her in place, dark and unreadable. Her breath quickened, each inhale loud in her ears.

Cold fingers of dread slithered down her spine as his eyes bore into her-merciless, calculating.