The Black-Silver Pack was known across all the territories — feared, respected, and whispered about in both reverence and dread. The neighbouring Packs called it The Pack of The Great Sun. There was no solid tale about how the pack came to be. It was said their ancestors had been blessed by Ojota, the Spirit of the Sun, to reign as a source of light and hope for ages to come. For moons after moons, the pack had been revered as one whom other packs ran to for help in time of need. They were a safe haven — providers of shelter and sanctuary for all who needed them. However, everything changed during the days of Alpha Jahan, Amusu's grandfather and Kambi's great-grandfather.
Blinded by his lust for power and control, Jahan turned away all who came for sanctuary. He killed without mercy and turned his heart away from his people. This tradition of wickedness passed down from one father till the other, only becoming worse with each passing generation.
The result of this was a bloody reign, clouded by darkness, death and destruction.
The name 'Black-Silvered Wolf' came from the color of their fur when shifted — a deep, obsidian black streaked with shimmering silver under moonlight, like a storm cloud laced with lightning. As time went on, the color gradually faded but that of the royal family remained the same.
Except for Kambi.
Kambi's wolf had never been seen. Some say that the curse of her father's actions had broken the royal family's tie with the wolf gods and there were secret talks of the bloodline ending with her. But they were all silent whispers in the dark.
No one ever dared to say it out loud.
Black- Silver was built upon ancient stone, high on the sacred hills of Ugwunta, where mist clung to the earth like breath. The palace compound stood wide and circular, surrounded by towering baobab trees and guarded day and night by elite warriors known as Zitas— the White-Eyed — trained from youth to silence threats to the royal line.
Alpha Amusu, who was called 'The Devil Alpha' ruled with an iron fist. Even the whisper of his name bore so much dread that mothers used him as a horror tale to keep their children in check — he and his White Eyed. His drive for total control and dominance, gave rise to the branding system. Every wolf within the pack was branded by the Alpha's fire and spirit, a symbol of their loyalty, burned into their shoulder or chest. No wolf without the Alpha's mark was allowed to live. He was more than an Alpha, he was a spiritual entity whose spirit lay in the heart of every man, woman and child of the pack — both slave and free.
Despite the cruelty of the current reign, the Black-Silver Pack remained the largest and most powerful in the Five Realms of the Earth. They controlled water routes, sacred groves, and trade with mountain forgers. Their priests chanted in the Old Tongue. Their warriors trained with both blade and claw. Their women were fierce and educated. Their young were taught the legends from the moment they could walk.
To outsiders, they were feared and great people. But within the walls, behind the honor and tradition, there were cracks. Cracks that only those beneath the palace roofs truly understood.
Six moons had passed since the incident, but the wounds of The Hunt had not still healed. The Alpha had raided more packs, laying them to waste and dragging their women and children back as slaves. Day by day, their numbers grew greater - broken and shattered people, living in one compound, brought together by the greed and evil of one man.
Under the silence of torture and suffering, Aira grew, raised by Ola - her foster mother. She grew very quickly, faster than most children her age. Her runes became more prominent by the day. Ola had to use strong local herbs to prepare a powder for her skin and cover up the patterns.
She felt fulfillment raising the child up. The torture and suffering grew more and more each day but all that mattered to her, was seeing her child grow to be the destiny she was always meant to be.
Ola did her best to keep Aira's existence a secret. She walked among the slaves but was never noticed. It was almost as though she never existed in the first place. She was there, but never there — seen but not remembered, just as they hoped. But Aira's wolf grew stronger by the day, and there was very little Ola could do to hide that. She would experience random partial shifts in the middle of the day — the color of her eyes becoming as golden as the sun at dawn. She was obviously becoming different — too different. Sometimes, the powder Ola rubbed on her skin to hide the marks were burnt off by the runes, so she had to create a stronger one.
But for how long could she be kept a secret?
Ola was greatly afraid.