The morning air hung heavy and cool, clinging to the emerald canopy of the ancient forest. Each breath Paxton took in his magnificent gray wolf form was a visible plume of steam, dissolving instantly into the crispness. His powerful paws, caked with the rich, dark soil, dug deep into the earth with every thunderous stride, sending clods of dirt and damp leaves spraying behind him. The hourly morning dew still glistened like scattered diamonds on the blades of grass, leaving a faint, cool dampness on the thick fur of his powerful legs as he tore through the undergrowth.
A sheen of sweat and grime coated his sleek, muscular coat, catching the nascent light filtering through the dense trees, a testament to the desperate urgency of his journey. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a wild drumbeat echoing the pounding of his paws. The raw, verdant scent of pine, damp earth, and decaying leaves filled his nostrils with every deep, heaving inhale, a wild symphony of the wilderness that he was now risking everything to protect. This raw, untamed freedom, the very essence of his being, was what he was wagering against the rigid, unyielding laws of the Council.
He knew the way, not from personal experience, but from the ingrained knowledge passed down through generations. The Grand Council House, a formidable castle-like structure that dominated the landscape, shared territory with the unseen Red Castle, the Queen's domain. It was the first landmark taught in any young wolf's geography lessons, a place of ultimate power and unwavering rule.
As the dense canopy began to thin, revealing glimpses of a clearing ahead, an oppressive aura began to settle around him, pressing down like an invisible weight. The wild sensory explosion of the forest began to recede, dulled by the approaching structure.
He didn't break stride, his immense momentum carrying him forward until he burst into the open, a grand, imposing stone edifice rising before him. The suddenness of its presence, stark against the vibrant forest, brought him to an abrupt, skidding halt. The wildness in his eyes flickered, replaced by a steely, almost desperate resolve. He braced himself, gathering every ounce of his courage, before tilting his massive head back and unleashing a fierce, guttural howl that ripped through the quiet morning, a primal declaration of his presence and his intent.
The sound, raw and defiant, sliced through the air and faded, leaving an almost unnatural silence in its wake. With a ripple of muscle and bone, Paxton's massive wolf form began to contort, shrinking and reshaping until he stood naked and exposed on the dew-kissed grass. His chin lifted, a defiant challenge etched onto his features, unwilling to show a flicker of hesitation or fear.
Almost immediately, the low growls and the rustle of movement betrayed the presence of the Council's elite warriors. They materialized from the shadows of the council house, their own forms shifting from human to wolf, a ring of snarling muzzles and bared teeth, ready to rip him to shreds. Their primal aggression met Paxton's steady gaze, a silent testament to the danger he was willing to face.
"I demand the Right of Unbinding Sanctuary!" Paxton's voice, though raw from the shift and the preceding run, cut through the tension with surprising clarity. Each word was carefully enunciated, ensuring that all present understood the ancient, inviolable protection he was claiming.
Inside the stoic, silent halls of the Council House, the raw, defiant howl had resonated with an unusual intensity. Angus, his movements precise and unhurried, stepped out from his segment on the main floor. He was a figure of quiet authority, clad in a pristine, deep red cloak that draped elegantly over his tall, lean frame. The Council House had been unusually quiet, almost eerily so, for the past day. The various search parties for the new Queen had already been dispatched, leaving him to conduct his own discreet reconnaissance, sifting through potential candidates from various packs, hoping to narrow down their vast search. The call of Sanctuary was a rare occurrence, one that brought a subtle, almost imperceptible lift to his otherwise impassive brows.
His imposing figure radiated a distinct power and the quiet wisdom of centuries, an undercurrent of an elder who had seen too much and now viewed the world with a clinical, detached eye. He observed the scene outside through the grand entryway: the lone, naked male, surrounded by the bristling forms of the Council's guards.
"I have invoked the Right of Unbinding Sanctuary," Paxton reiterated, his voice unwavering even as he met Angus's gaze. The vibrant red cloak was an unmistakable sign; this man was a Council member.
Angus's voice was a low, even cadence, devoid of warmth or emotion. "Do you understand that if you are wasting the Council's time, you will be executed?" His words were not a threat, but a simple, cold statement of fact. There was no room for petty tales or unverified rumors here; such a transgression would be met with immediate death, without hesitation or trial. It was a grave offense to trifle with the Council's time, and the consequences were absolute.
"I won't die," Paxton declared, his eyes burning with conviction, not a tremor in his voice.
A flicker of something akin to curiosity crossed Angus's ancient features, quickly masked. Very few had ever been brave enough to invoke this right, and those who did were considered lucky to escape with their lives. "As you wish. Come."
Angus turned, his red cloak swirling subtly, and led Paxton into the Council House.
The sudden shift from the vibrant, living forest to the cold, silent interior of the Council House was abrupt, almost disorienting. The sensory richness of the outside world died off in a quick, sudden drop of awareness.
Paxton's eyes widened, adjusting to the dim, hushed light. He had never been inside this legendary building, only seen its austere façade in textbooks and faded photographs. To walk its hallowed halls, however, was an entirely different experience.
The main floor was designed in eight distinct segments, each a two-story column housing a different Council member's office and personal archives. These towering sections, resembling vast, circular libraries, stretched upwards, filled with ancient scrolls, gleaming screens, and countless volumes. Each was sealed off, its heavy doors closed, except for the one Angus was currently using. It was apparent he was the sole Council member present.
A thrill, like a child on a field trip to the zoo, shot through Paxton. His heart raced with a nervous excitement as he wondered if he would glimpse the fabled magnificent glass dome that crowned the very top of the building, the exclusive, private meeting space for the Council members themselves. Was it truly as grand as the legends claimed? Was the glass so clear it made you feel as if you were soaring in the sky itself? He yearned to see everything, touch everything, experience it all.
Angus, meanwhile, had moved to a polished, dark wood desk within his segment. With a practiced motion, he pulled out a sleek tablet, its screen illuminating with a soft glow. He opened a rarely accessed file, its title, "Right of Unbinding Sanctuary," boldly displayed at the top.
"Name?" Angus asked, his voice flat, his gaze fixed on the screen, not Paxton.
Paxton's initial enthusiasm deflated slightly. It was just him and this one Council member, engaged in what felt like mundane paperwork. "Paxton Woodhull."
"Date of birth."
"Is this necessary? The information I have is very vital. It is extremely important—"
Angus's eyes finally lifted, resting on Paxton with a hint of what might have been mild weariness. His voice remained a calm, steady drone. "The Council is litigious in nature. Everything is written down. Even a time-waster has paperwork. Date of birth?" He wasn't shocked by Paxton's confusion. Wolves sometimes forgot they lived in a modern age. Things no longer needed to be left to the fallible memory of individuals, hoping it would pass accurately from person to person through time. The cellphone and the computer had long been invented; there was no need for such faulty things as memory alone.
"December 20th, 1991."
Angus noted down the information, his fingers moving swiftly across the tablet's surface. Only a few more questions remained before they could proceed to the disclosure.
"Home pack?"
Paxton felt a flicker of hesitation, a primal urge to keep that information hidden, but he answered, knowing one false move could mean his life. "Moonfang pack."
"Reason for your expulsion?" This question always seemed to elicit the most resistance, the longest pauses.
"I..." Paxton cleared his throat, attempting to project a nonchalance he didn't feel. "I attacked the Alpha's son, to end the bloodline of that office." He yearned to explain, to justify his actions. The Alpha's son had been a monster, utterly undeserving of the title. He'd done his pack a favor. It wasn't a malicious crime, but a desperate attempt to save his pack from imploding. Alpha Phoenix's son was vicious, even if not strong himself, his father's power was enough to let him act like a true bastard.
Angus's eyebrows, usually so still, rose barely perceptibly. This male was taking a phenomenal risk. His pack would be alerted if his information proved viable, knowing where in the country to look for him. The Council never helped hide anyone who invoked the right; they were merely shielded from punishment for their crimes and given a five-day head start to escape, an incentive to encourage even the worst criminals to come forward when it served the wider wolf community.
"What do you know? I would warn you, speak nothing that you do not know to be true. If you have not seen it with your own eyes, do not speak it. You are held accountable for every word. Choose them wisely, child."
Paxton took a deep, fortifying breath before recounting the harrowing events in the forest involving himself and Jeremy. He then continued, detailing the human facility he had stumbled upon after following them.
Angus listened, his expression unchanging, a mask of calm. Jeremy's words had sounded like pure fiction. Humans didn't attack wolves, nor did they know their weaknesses. Even though Paxton delivered his tale with an undeniable earnestness and conviction, Angus couldn't shake the feeling that it was all the ramblings of a disturbed mind. He had refrained from making any comments, simply allowing Paxton to speak in full.
"Is this all you have to report?" Angus asked, once Paxton had concluded his account. Once the report was ended, no more could be added. He would have to request a new right, if he even survived this first one.
"Excuse my rudeness, Council Member—" Paxton paused, realizing he still didn't know the man's name. When Angus offered no indication, Paxton continued regardless. "—but what I have reported already is earth-shattering. The humans know of us. They're trying to capture us. You seem rather calm."
"I am nearing my third century. There is little that shocks me. Guards!" Angus's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. "Take him to the cells below."
Paxton yelled in outrage, immediately straining against the sudden grip of the guards. But it was no use. They were stronger, their movements swift and practiced. Before he could even blink, heavy chains, cold and unyielding, had been expertly wrapped around his wrists.
"I invoked the right! You cannot do this to me! I've only spoken the truth! I did no lie!" Paxton pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice, but the Council member remained as passive as ever.
"The right has been respected. We are to listen. I have listened. I do not know if you are lying or telling the truth. But your information can be sourced. A team will be sent to check the authenticity of your claim." Angus rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, and stepped closer to Paxton, his gaze piercing. "Until then, you are forbidden from leaving the Council House. You are a wanted criminal. Our trust in you is low. You will stay in the cells until we verify your information."
At his words, Paxton ceased struggling, not wanting to further confirm the Council member's perception of him as a common criminal. "If it is deemed to be found truthful, you will be set free, with a five-day head start before anyone is allowed to hunt you again."
With a brief, almost imperceptible nod to the guards, they needed no further indication. They hauled Paxton away towards the cells.
Unlike the crude, uncomfortable cells of various packs, the Council cells were far more accommodating. They weren't frequently used for long-term criminals, serving primarily as holding areas for those awaiting interrogation. Thus, they were not as harsh or uncomfortable as others.
Angus, alone once more, calmly finished the report, his tablet silently confirming the completion of the task. He then set it aside.
At this moment, the unverified claims of a rogue wolf, no matter how extraordinary, did not trump the paramount task of finding the new Queen. This was something that would be handled at a later date, once more pressing matters were resolved.