Embers In The North

By the time Reyna sat down to supper in the confines of her well-appointed quarters, the mighty snowstorm had begun its relentless sweep across Egranox.

From her dining chamber, adorned with tapestries woven by her mother and grandmother, Reyna watched the spectacle unfold beyond her window. Delicate snowflakes fell from the sky, fluttering gracefully towards the earth. The familiar and unremarkable terrain was now covered in a luminous shroud of glistening white. The pale moonlight lent an ethereal sheen to every surface it touched, illuminating the landscape in a soft and otherworldly glow.

A profound hush fell upon Egranox as if reality had succumbed to the snowstorm’s enchantment. Even the usual symphony of nocturnal creatures and the whispers of the wind all seemed to bow in deference to the storm’s transformative power. The world, in this tranquil moment, was cradled beneath a quilt of silence, as if the universe itself had drawn a breath and held it in rapt anticipation.

The Prime Commander residing within the hallowed walls of the Mithril Obelisk – Egranox’s Citadel – was a living tradition. Throughout time, the Citadel has symbolized the enduring bond between the wolves of the city and their revered Fangs. This fortress, a bastion of strength and honour, served as both a refuge and a beacon, embodying the unwavering loyalty of those who pledged their lives to its service.

Much like the intricate threads of an ancient tapestry, the Citadel’s legacy was intricately woven with tales of courage and camaraderie, echoing the footsteps of countless generations. It stood as the beating heart of Egranox, a nexus where the Warmaster held court in the company of the Elders of Aupheadia. Within these walls, weighty decisions were forged, destinies entwined, and the intricate fabric of the Territory’s future meticulously crafted.

On the western wing of the Mithril Obelisk was the Prime Commander’s residence. Putting the Prime’s dwelling in the citadel represented the unbreakable bond between the Prime and the Warmaster-who resided in the north-forged by their shared dedication to the Egranox Pack.

Perched atop a hillock, nestled at the foot of a gentle slope, Egranox’s Citadel stood. Gazing from the Mithril Obelisk’s perspective, along a thoroughfare compacted by the footfalls of time and lined with houses on either side, one could see the city’s boundaries, framed by an elongated and unbroken path.

Marks of antiquated magnificence dotted its outer surface, a visual narrative of epochs past. But its significance stretched far beyond mere appearances. It was more than a structure; it was the pulsing core of their pack, safeguarding and meticulously preserving the annals of their past.

It was also the place where the Obelisk stood.

The Obelisk sat at the zenith of the Citadel, a place of unparalleled reverence, its spire stretching skyward with unwavering resolve. The Citadel was built around the Obelisk, as the heart of its embrace. It unfolded into four distinct wings, all converging in the Obelisk’s Great Hall.

The exalted citadels of all three territories mirrored the same design.

The Obelisk held within it a fragment of the legendary World Tree, serving as a divine connection uniting the Kingdom of Aupheadia under Odin’s benevolent rule. This sacred link bound the territories into a single harmonious realm, led by one Alpha.

As Frostcall’s Prime Commander, Reyna commanded its strongest and first Fleet. Comprising the most formidable and skilled Fangs, her Fleet was a force to reckon with. Yet, beneath her achievements, a relentless yearning consumed her.

The coveted Warmaster title had been her dream since youth. Warmasters were legendary pack leaders, commanding respect and fear. With that title came influence and authority, and it would mark the apex of her achievements.

The hunger for power and the chance to mold Egranox’s future beckoned to her like a siren’s call.

In those hushed moments when the world around her quieted, she dared to indulge in her fantasies. To bear the mantle of Warmaster, to command the pack with unassailable might. Those visions ignited an ardent fire within her, stoked by ambition and an unrelenting desire to prove herself–a female–worthy of that esteemed role.

“Prime, would you fancy some honey hoppers for dessert?” Tharja, one of her regular Gammas inquired.

Pausing in her absent-minded swirling of the fork through her meal, Reyna looked up to meet the Gamma’s gaze. She had been so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn’t even registered Tharja’s entrance.

“No, Tharja, not today. Get some rest,” she replied.

Once again, her attention drifted back to the storm outside. Tharja placed the jug on the black chabudai before quietly exiting the room.

Reyna’s gaze remained fixed on the storm, her thoughts drifting towards the staffing structure within the Mithril Obelisk. The stark gender inequality among the aides irked her. Tradition dictated that they were mostly female, a custom ingrained deeply in the fabric of Aupheadia’s culture. And being the lone female Prime across Aupheadia only added to the challenge.

The weight of her reflections settled like a heavy cloak, a constant reminder of the uphill battle she had fought. One that required her to shatter both glass ceilings and time-honored customs deeply rooted in the Kingdom she held dear.

In a society dominated by males, Reyna’s position was a rarity, a radiant anomaly in the midst of the prevailing norms. She had battled tirelessly to earn her place, to demonstrate her competence in the face of doubters and naysayers. The weight of her role as a female in her post wasn’t lost on her; it often felt like both a triumph and a burden.

With a soft sigh, she shifted her attention back to her untouched meal, now cold and unappetizing. The Smoked Mushrooms and apricot cake that typically delighted her palate had lost their allure in the midst of her internal contemplation.

Her gaze, like a lodestone, was once again drawn to the raging storm beyond the window. Amidst the howling winds and swirling snow, her mind circled back to her recent encounter with Alpha Roth. Unbidden thoughts arose about whether they had managed to escape the storm.

In sync with her thoughts, a persistent knock echoed at her door. Setting her cutlery aside, Reyna stood and steeled herself, recognizing the waft of vetiver in the air—an olfactory signal of who awaited her. Taking a breath, she mentally prepared herself for the imminent confrontation before turning the knob.

As expected, on the other side stood Warmaster Bandos Moltenroar, his presence imposing and his gaze fierce. Not a single word passed his lips; he simply strode past Reyna, his steps resounding with unspoken authority. Two Fangs trailed closely behind him, but Reyna promptly lifted her hand to halt them in their tracks.

“Hold,” she instructed. In a swift motion, she closed the door, barring their entry.

Turning to face her living quarters, Bandos glowered at her, hands clasped on his waist. With each word, his voice thundered louder as he confronted her.

“I need you to tell me you did not engage in an altercation with the Alpha of our kingdom and his entourage,” he demanded.

Besides his imposing presence and that thunderous, buoyant voice that grew louder the angrier he got, Warmaster Bandos was also a hulking giant. He stood at least two feet taller than the average male and his broad and thickly muscled frame made him look like he was carved out of granite.

She stood at ease, clad in a lilac housedress that draped softly around her. With her arms relaxed behind her back, Reyna remained calm. It was glorious contentment for her to return to her quarters and don the loose cotton gown at the end of each day. Shedding the confines of her Fang suit, akin to a second skin that threatened to drain her spirit, and letting her hair cascade freely were small joys she relished.

“I did not.” Her tone was cautious because she didn’t want to upset him further.

The retort that followed was a bark. “Don’t you dare lie to me, girl!”

Invariably, he gave credence to the narratives spun by others, especially the House of Maynord, valuing their words over hers—a pattern ingrained over time. He had all but dismissed her side of things and this visit was a stark reminder of their strained relationship.

“There’s no reason to do that.” Reyna shrugged. “You know me better than that, Bandos. I am not foolish enough to provoke unnecessary conflicts, especially with the Alpha of our kingdom.”

Bandos paced back and forth, his deep growls mingling with muttered curses under his breath. Reyna, a silent observer, watched him as the minutes slipped away. He wore a fur-lined jacket with elongated sleeves, adorned with the emblem of Moltenroar—a symmetrical diamond cradled between a tiger and a bear.

“I heard about the confrontation,” he replied. “You must understand the gravity of such accusations, particularly in light of the simmering tensions between our territories.”

In acknowledgment, Reyna offered a solemn nod. “And you, in turn, must understand the seriousness of Krelon wolves infiltrating Egranox and assaulting its Prime, even after she identified herself.”

The cadence of Bandos’s pacing ceased abruptly, his fierce gaze fixed on her as if that thought had not crossed his mind. Reyna knew Bandos was no fool; he understood the implications.

“There will be repercussions for their actions, just as there will be for ours,” he finally asserted. “We must quell the likelihood of this incident escalating into a full-blown conflict. Alpha Roth is a guest here, and we must be diplomatic about this.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Reyna replied, trying to temper her emotions.

“You must apologize to Alpha Roth. It matters little that he was at fault. Your attack on him constituted a slight to the House of Maynord, and the repercussions could be severe! A public apology is the only way to mend the rift you’ve provoked.”

Reyna’s response was a firm denial, her head swaying gently as she laughed softly. “Those belligerent morons trespassed on my territory. Their actions were a blatant challenge to my authority. Had I been any other Fang, one of those cunts might have taken my head off!”

In her deepest contemplation, she thought she’d never defile her Warmaster, but here it was and she fumed. Embers of defiance flared within her, propelling her towards Bandos. She locked her eyes upon his slate-grey irises.

“This is–”

“By Odin’s balls, Bandos, muster the semblance of solidarity with me for once!” Her voice surged forth in a roar, and she fought to stop her Ember from igniting. “If the House of Maynord truly seeks an apology, they’ll have to pry it from me, because I would sooner meet death than submit! I won’t surrender my honour or bow in shame. I won’t apologize for what transpired.”

Her words echoed through the chamber with unyielding fierceness, mirroring the thunderous storm outside. Her eyes twitched with a telltale sign of anger held at bay but poised to erupt. She clenched her hands into tightly wound fists as she awaited Bandos’s response. With great effort, she harnessed her Ember ability, commanding its disruptive energy to coil inwards, quelling its potential to consume and rage.

Even in the face of her outburst, Bandos’ demeanour remained firm. Unspoken words waged silent wars and the Moltenroar crest, etched on his jacket, emitted a subdued glow.

A delicate tension teetered on the brink as each heartbeat echoed the uncertainty of what would happen next. It was a standoff between two forces, both formidable in their own right, but with different methods of wielding power.

As her Warmaster, Bandos could command her obedience, a decree she, as Prime, couldn’t ignore. It was a tightrope walk between obligation and self-preservation, where defiance risked destabilizing the foundation of her position.

A power struggle between ruler and subject. The unspoken rules of hierarchy and fealty were a double-edged sword, demanding allegiance while also allowing room for resistance that could stake you. A subtle dance of influence, where the pendulum swung between submission and rebellion, loyalty and autonomy.

As the seconds stretched, taut like bowstrings, Bandos’ eyes narrowed, his silent gaze resembling a suppressed growl. Reyna, equally resolute, arched a single brow, a wordless reminder for him to understand the implications of challenging her resolve.

“Get into your uniform,” his words were an order, each syllable laced with an authority that brooked no defiance, “and join us in the Grand Hall. After all, it is your duty to extend a welcome alongside me.”

Bandos had made his point clear; there was no more to be said. With deliberate strides, he exited her quarters, leaving Reyna standing there, her chest rising and falling with a purposeful inhale. She maintained her stance, her gaze fixed on the space he had occupied.

Putting her hands on her hips, she muttered under her breath, “Some father!”