Alpha Amusu's palace was a thing of cruel beauty — vast, imposing, carved into the sacred rock at the edge of the mountain. The temple stood behind it like a towering shadow, adding to its magnificence. Its golden spires rose like sharpened claws into the sky. From afar, it shimmered with the illusion of peace. But inside, it was a fortress of fear, a cathedral of silence and submission.
It was the place where the devil himself ruled with an iron fist.
The Great Hall was the heart of his power — long and wide, with marble floors veined in obsidian and walls carved with the conquests of Alphas long dead. The original palace of Amusu's ancestors had been destroyed during the time of Amusu's grandfather when the reign of terror began. It was his way of putting an end to the old beliefs, and bringing about a rebirth of death and destruction.
Massive pillars shaped like wolves rising on their haunches lined the chamber, each one baring stone fangs in eternal snarl. Overhead, thick iron braziers burned with blue flame, casting shadows that moved like spirits watching from the rafters.
At the far end of the hall, on an elevated throne carved from the ribcage of a beast, sat Amusu— Alpha of the Black-Silvered-Wolf Pack. His eyes were sharp, dark, and merciless. His aura filled the room with suffocating helplessness to all in it.
Beneath him — literally — knelt his Luna, Kambi's mother. She knelt at his feet on a small cushioned step, her eyes downcast, her hands folded obediently on her thighs. Though finely dressed in silks and jewels, her position made it clear: she was a symbol of loyalty, a showcase of his power, not an equal. She was betrothed to him when she was barely fifteen moons old, and had lived under his heavy hand for more than twenty moon. She used to be an intelligent young lady with dreams of becoming a Healer. But those dreams remained as they were - dreams. She had become a subject of the Alpha's abuse. She was no more a slave than those who lived in the quarters. A beautiful, silent reminder of his terrible reign over his people, and his thirst for power.
Her beautiful name, Jamira, forgotten. Now, she was nothing more than Luna, Alpha Amusu's wife. Her name was irrelevant.
Below her, scattered across woven mats on the cold marble floor, were the Ekazaris, Amusu's concubines. They were seventeen in number, and more would soon be added to the number. Some were daughters given as gifts to the Alpha by their fathers, while some were conquered Lunas of other Packs whose husbands he had slain. Some were heavy with child, their swollen bellies rising beneath embroidered wrappers. Others cradled infants or kept quiet toddlers pressed close to their breasts, silent as stone. They did not speak. They did not raise their heads. They were beauty and breeding, nothing more.
A heavy silence hung in the air.
The Obadaris — the royal guards — stood in a half-circle formation at the foot of the dais. They were elite, cloaked in red and black, armed with spears and crescent blades. Their eyes were sharp and alert, watching every twitch and breath of those gathered in the hall. Behind them, placed precisely at the corners and flanking the great doors, stood the White-Eyed — the palace guard known for their bleached irises and vow of silence. Dressed in bone-colored leather, they looked otherworldly, almost spectral, as if they saw things no mortal should.
Every soul in the chamber held their breath. The weight of the Alpha's presence choked like smoke.
An official hearing was underway — a formal gathering where decisions were made, accusations judged, and punishments delivered. Today however, was about Kambi's return and the great ceremony on the way. However, there was something more — a rumor of an unbranded slave had reached his ears.
The air crackled with tension. One wrong word could end a bloodline. One glance too bold could cost a tongue.
The Beta, Gamma and all the other members of the court sat at directly in front of him awaiting the day's hearing — hearts beating, waiting for the Alpha's words.
The Slave Quarters
The slave quarters sat at the farthest edge of the palace compound, behind the smokehouses and the ash pits. The huts were low, made of cracked red clay and sagging thatch. Their doors were no more than cloth flaps, and the floors were always damp, always cold. The stench of sweat, smoke, and suffering clung to the air, a constant reminder of their pains and punishment.
This was where the invisible and forgotten live. The ones who served without names. Men, women and children torn away from their families into another man's land, forced to serve the same person who destroyed their lives. And not just to serve him, to serve in complete silence and submission.
However today, that silence had been shattered.
>
"Mama… mama…" Aira's eyes were wet with tears as she struggled free from her mother's tight grip as she dragged her into the store house. It was very inconspicuous, hidden from view behind the great Iroko tree at the back of the compound. It was one of the few places that the slaves had to themselves as many of the slave masters had superstitions about that place, after a slave woman killed herself under the tree.
The little girl stumbled as she was dragged inside, her bare feet scraping against the rough floor. Her breath came in fast, shallow gasps, eyes wide with fear and confusion Ola pulled open a mat at the corner, which covered a small hole that could fit Aira, standing up. Aira was used to the drill. She had spent more than half of her life inside this hole, hiding from people she did not know. Her whole life was a big cycle - being covered with her mother's herbs, hiding in this hole, fetching water with the enslaved children and seeing her mother cry from beatings and abuse.
This to her, was normal life. None of the children liked to play with her. She was an outcast, invisible - a ghost. She could talk to some children today, and tomorrow, she would be forgotten, like she never existed. It was only Brother Cheta who played with her whenever he came to visit. Mama was always afraid and paranoid. She heard the other women call mama 'possessed'.
She asked mama what that word meant and she said it meant 'someone beautiful'.
Then why did they say it with scorn in their faces?
Mama was always afraid, looking at her back, praying to her gods and making different herbal concoctions for her 'safety'.
She wondered if it had to do with the times she would pass out, and dream of a wolf. It was the most beautiful wolf Aira had ever seen. She had seen wolves from the masters but none from the 'people in her compound'. She loved the wolves, she wanted to have a wolf too but she dared not bring it up to her mother. Mama was already stressed out as it were, she did not want to add to her worries.
She was used to the life, she understood that mama loved her. She said it herself countless times. "I love you, my child… you are my light… I just want to protect you from bad people."
"But mama… why do you not protect yourself from the bad men who always beat you with canes and sticks, and make you kneel under the sun with pepper in your eyes?"
But mama never had an answer.
Although Aira was used to the hiding, today felt different. There was more urgency in her mother's voice, more tightness to her grip.
"Mama," she whispered, tugging on the woman's wrapper. "Why... why do we always hide?"
"Not now, Aira," Ola hissed, crouching to sweep her shawl over the girl's tiny body. "Stay quiet. Do not breath loud. Remember, we have done this over and over again. Repeat my instructions!"
"Stay quiet, do not breath loud" her voice trembled with fear. Tears were already pouring out of her eyes but her mother had taught her how to cry in silence, not letting one sound out as she did.
"Mama… would the bad men beat you again?"
Ola's hands trembled and she applied the concoction against Aira's body, tears streaming down her eyes. "Aira… my beautiful daughter. One day, you would understand all the things that I do for you, is out of love. You are just too young to understand."
"But I do not want to hide,"Aira said, lips trembling.
'I want to stay with mama… I do not want the bad men to beat her again,'
Ola pressed a hand over her mouth — gently, but firmly. "Hush," she breathed. "You must stay quiet. Now go!"
"Mama… mama… please…" But her voice was drowned out. Ola shoved her in and placed the mat over it, before putting a bowl of oil over the mat,
Outside, the heavy stomp of boots began to echo through the dirt paths of the quarters. Metal clanged. Spears clacked. They were here!
Ola's heart pounded like a torn drum. Her eyes darted to the door. She kept reciting chants of prayers to her gods, for the safety of the child.
Underneath, Aira curled into a ball beneath the baskets, eyes full of terror as she wept for fear that she may never see her mother again.
>
"Ola… Ola… the White-Eyed of the Palace are coming with the Gamma. The slave-masters have ordered all the slaves to the compound, naked."
Ola knew what was coming. She had been alert for information about the happenings in the palace. Strategically, she positioned herself at the Gamma's work station that week, in hopes of gathering as much information as she could. It was only about time that the found out, and she had to be prepared for anything and everything.
She was sure that Cheta was not aware. He was doing his best, but no matter how skilled and loyal he was, there was only so much her could do for her. The Princess' Osimiri Ceremony was the very next day, tension was high in the air.
Like animals, they were led out of the quarters, into the compound. The sun was harsh upon the earth, burning into their skins and the soles of their feet as they stood outside in open air. Most were naked, only a small piece of cloth covering their groins. Whip marks had covered the original patterns on their skins. They looked soulless, with sunken eyes and deep brands that burnt into their skins, reminding them of their unending life of slavery to the Alpha and his Pack. Men, women, children bowed their heads to the ground, fearing the worst for their lives if they looked up.
Gamma Ejira had arrived like a storm. He was the one who oversaw all the matters of the slave quarters, and rules with a heavy hand. Clad in the golden wolf-skin robe that marked his rank, he paced before the slaves like a vulture waiting for rot. His voice, sharp and theatrical, echoed across the courtyard - breathing anger through the courtyard.
"You dare!" he bellowed, holding high the branding rod, its seared edge gleaming with dried blood. "The Alpha — your saviour — gave you order. He gave you work. Food. Purpose. And this — this is how you repay him?"
No one responded. Not because they were guilty, but because they did not understand what had happened.
"The only thing the Alpha ever required of you lot, was a brand of his ownership. You all are dirty foreigners who do not bear the mark of this Pack but the marks of your pathetic Packs. However, the Alpha had been so gracious to permit you stay in his sacred land, and this is how you repay him?"
As he spoke, the courtyard echoed with the sharp, wet crack of whips against bare flesh. The slaves — men, women, even old ones with bent backs had been pushed to their knees, sweat and blood glistening their backs - old wounds reopening, new wounds surfacing. Some had already collapsed, only to be yanked upright by the slave masters, their faces twisted with grim duty. There was no mercy in their strikes.
CRACK.
Ola screamed. The whip came down without mercy. She could feel blood trickle down her back. Another bit down on her tongue until blood filled her mouth.
"This is not cruelty," he declared, voice loud and unwavering. "This is discipline."
CRACK.
A young boy cried out. His mother reached for him and was struck across the face with the butt of a staff.
"You were given a place. You were given order under the Alpha's rule , a roof, food, purpose. And yet, you repay him with betrayal?"
CRACK.
Another lash. Another muffled sob. The crowd of slaves trembled. Ola wept in pain. She felt responsible for everything that had happened, yet she could not speak up. She could not lose her child.
Only bitter cries filled the compound as the whips crashed against their backs. All to afraid to speak a word out of turn.
"You have conspired," he spat. "You have chosen wickedness over obedience. You think the Alpha is blind? That he cannot smell rebellion in the air?"
He motioned with his hand, to the White-Eyed who were with him.
"Search every nook and cranny of this place! Make sure that they all are gathered in this compound. There shall be no mercy!"