TRANSCENDED

VLAMWOOD PROVINCE

RIVERVILLE PACK

“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.”