"Leave my son alone! Leave him !.....I won't let you come an intch close to my son,my son doesn't deserve this," Lara cried as she ran towards the forest.
The forest was alive with whispers. Not the casual rustling of leaves or the chirping of crickets, but a quiet, urgent murmuring that seemed almost… sentient. Silverfang Woods had always been a place of secrets, a place where the moonlight danced like liquid silver through the thick canopy, and shadows held truths that the careless never lived to discover. Tonight, the whispers carried something different—something heavier, almost desperate.
A lone figure ran through the undergrowth, carrying the weight of both fear and hope. She stumbled over roots, skidding across the damp earth, her breaths sharp and ragged. Her name was Lara, a woman of quiet strength, and in her arms, she held her son—the child that would change everything.
He was small, barely more than a newborn, yet even in that fragile bundle, there was a power that hummed beneath his skin, as if the forest itself recognized him. His cries, weak but insistent, cut through the night air, and Lara pressed him closer, whispering the only words she could trust:
"Run, my son. Survive. One day, you will claim what is rightfully yours."
Behind her, the sound of pounding footsteps grew closer, deliberate, heavy—Alpha footsteps.
The man who had once called her mate and the father of other children no longer a protector. In the dim silver light, Lara could see him now: towering, cruel, eyes like shards of obsidian reflecting the crimson moon above. His face, carved with disdain, bore the weight of power and entitlement. This was not the man she had loved. This was a predator, and she was his prey.
"Give me the child," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous, echoing through the trees like a growl.
Alara's grip tightened. "Never. He is mine."
A snarl broke from the shadows—a sound that was part wolf, part human—and the forest seemed to hold its breath. The moon, full and impossibly red, cast a bloody glow over the clearing, painting the night with warnings and omens. The child stirred, sensing the tension, and his tiny fists clenched as if he understood the danger.
The Alpha lunged. Lara twisted, narrowly avoiding his grasp, her heart hammering against her chest. Every step she took was fueled by desperation and the knowledge that one slip could mean death—for her, for her son, for the future. And yet, even as she ran, a seed of hope took root. This child… this fragile, screaming infant… was no ordinary wolf. He carried the bloodline of power, a legacy that no jealousy or malice could ever extinguish.
A sharp rock tore through her palm, and she hissed in pain, but she did not falter. She dove into the river that cut through the forest, the icy water shocking her into urgency. The child cried louder, but she whispered, soothing him:
"Hold on, little one. The night is ours for a few more heartbeats."
By the time she emerged on the other side, soaked and shivering, the Alpha had disappeared—or perhaps he had been a shadow of rage - chasing what he could not touch. Lara knew they had only hours, maybe minutes, before he realized her escape. She had to reach the northern cliffs, the only place in Silverfang Woods where the forest gave way to the mountains. There, she could hide him, and maybe… just maybe… someone loyal would protect him until he was ready.
The baby stopped crying for a moment, his small, luminous eyes meeting hers. In the glow of the crimson moon, it almost seemed as if he understood the weight of her words. Survive. Claim your destiny.
By dawn, Lara had reached a hidden hollow in the cliffs. She collapsed against the stone, exhaustion pulling at her every muscle, but her mind refused to surrender. She laid the baby down gently, covering him with her cloak.
"You will not belong to them, little one," she whispered. "The pack thinks it can erase you, but destiny… destiny will not be denied."
Her fingers traced the faint markings on his skin, birthmarks that glimmered like silver threads in the early morning light. Even in exile, even in fear, he carried the essence of something ancient, something powerful.
Alara's chest heaved, and for the first time, she allowed herself a small, bitter smile. The night may have chased us from the pack… but the dawn… the dawn is ours.
And then she felt it: the subtle pulse beneath his skin. A heartbeat that was steady, unnerving in its strength for someone so small. The child stirred, and Alara felt a chill run down her spine.
He was awakening.
Not yet fully, not yet consciously, but the blood of alphas ran hot in his veins. The legacy of Silverfang, the curse and the power of their lineage, flowed through him, waiting.
In the days that followed, Lara taught him survival. She showed him how to move silently through the forest, how to listen to the wind, the water, and the rustle of creatures unseen. Even as his tiny body grew, his senses sharpened unnaturally fast, like a predator in the making. By the time he could walk, he already had the instinctual caution of a wolf, eyes scanning for danger, ears twitching at the faintest sound.
The forest whispered to him in ways Lara could never fully understand. It was as if the trees themselves bent to acknowledge his presence. Streams stilled when he approached, the wind seemed to carry his thoughts, and animals regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe. Even at this young age, there was a sense of inevitability about him: he was marked by fate, and nothing could deny it.
But the pack never forgot. The Alpha, his rival mother, and the siblings he had never met all lingered at the edge of the forest in whispers and rumors. The story of the forsaken child spread, twisted by jealousy, but carried like a dark seed:
"The child is hidden… but he lives."
Years passed. The boy grew, and with each year, the danger grew too. The forest, once a place of learning and solace, became a training ground for survival and stealth. He learned to fight without even realizing it, to defend himself instinctively, to strike with claws and teeth that were sharper than his size suggested.
And then the first full moon came after he turned seven.
It was an ordinary night—or at least, it should have been. The crimson moon hung low and immense over Silverfang Woods, casting an eerie red glow over every leaf and stone. The boy, now older, taller, stronger than his years suggested, felt the first stirrings of the transformation that had haunted his lineage.
Pain ripped through him, sharp and deep, as his bones lengthened, his muscles expanded, and fur began to cover his skin. He howled—not in fear, not in pain, but in recognition of what he had always been. The forest echoed with his cry, and for a moment, the very trees seemed to bend toward him, acknowledging him as their own.
Lara, watching from a distance, her own eyes glistening with tears, understood then what she had known all along: he was no ordinary wolf. He was something more. Something destined to return, to claim, to lead.
"Survive, my son," she whispered again, though she knew he would go far beyond mere survival.
"The pack will remember your name. One day… they will bow."
The howl stretched across the forest, long, deep, resonant with promise and fury. And far beyond the trees, hidden eyes watched and measured, the Alpha sensing the stirrings of the child he had once tried to destroy.
The hunt was beginning.
But the boy—the forsaken alpha—was ready.