Wolf

Kingdom.

Tribalan

Pack.

They

say the Tribalan tribe of the wolf kingdom flourishes in all things.

But one most exceptionally notable is their beauty.

Their

ethereal appearances crawl from meager maids to the Alpha. From kids

to adults. From a males to females. All skin types. All genetic

inheritances. All body shapes.

Even

now, the banquet hall screams of beauty as several maids in satin

robes swiftly move about to set the table.

Through

the large, open door, a man steps into the hall, clad in a

neatly-pressed brown suit, his polished black shoes complementing the

glimmers of the diamond signet ring on his left index finger.

Without

knowing it, he fists his fingers, his hands stiff at his sides and

his chin held high as his gray eyes scan the hall.

The

maids, who once graced the hall with their elegant movements, quickly

lose their composure on the sight of him.

They

giggle and point fingers. Some whisper among themselves.

The

man notices these gestures, but never meets gazes with any of them.

Instead, he focuses his attention on the long, rectangular banquet

table ahead, and on the smell of delicious food, even as his name

flies about the air. A name that forces necks to turn once it’s

mentioned.

“Ambassador

Zeedar, you are an hour early,” a voice whispers behind him. A male

voice with a bland tone.

Zeedar

acts unaware of the person, so the voice owner slides into his line

of view, forcing an eye contact with him while standing a few inches

taller than him.

Zeedar’s

stoic expression doesn’t change as his eyes carefully analyze the

man in his front.

Brawny.

Chocolate, glowing skin. Short and shaped beards.

Those

fit the description of Tribalan pack’s Beta.

“I

am Beta Reamer of Tribalan. I represent Alpha Frail of Tribalan

pack,” the man says while extending a handshake to Zeedar, who

silently takes it. “From what I heard, when Moon’s Wrath pack’s

ambassador goes on errands for his Alpha, Moon’s Wrath’s delight

travels with him. They are quite inseparable, people say. But from

what I’m seeing now, I do not think that is true.”

Zeedar

diverts his eyes from Reamer without blinking. “This is not the

Alpha’s errand,” he mutters before walking past the Beta, heading

to the table and taking a seat without permission.

After

studying Zeedar for a while, Reamer sits down as well.

Since

Zeedar sat at the

right side of the head seat,

he expected Reamer to sit opposite him.

Seeing

the man seated at the head

seat

meant for the Alpha is quite the eyesore he didn’t expect to come

across. But even as the itch to drag the man out of the seat bubbles

within him, he holds it down, suppressing it with a huge exhale of

breath.

“Wine?”

Reamer offers while gesturing to a maid to pour them both a champagne

of wine each. Zeedar shakes his head in refusal when it gets to his

turn. “How about alcohol?” the beta asks again, this time taking

his own champagne glass by its stem and gently swirling the drink

inside. Zeedar refuses again. “Do you prefer soda, then?”

“Milk,”

Zeedar responds curtly, “with zero sugar.”

Confused,

Reamer squints his eyes at the ambassador. Valiant men alike Zeedar

Father prefer wine and alcohol. But here he is talking of milk. A

DRINK FOR BABIES.

“Give

the man his milk, then,” Reamer tells the maid, then proceeds to

sip his wine, sniffing in its aroma before starting another speech.

“I often confused you and your brothers as triplets. You look

almost the same, and your characters don’t tell your age. For

example, people know your Alpha is the oldest among you, but you act

like the oldest instead. Could you please clarify the age differences

so I would know how to address all three of you when we come together

in the future…” Reamer jerks his wine glass toward Zeedar, “…in

peace, of course.”

Zeedar

locks his stare on the man. Is he trying to anger him by asking about

age so bluntly?

In

the werewolf kingdom, it’s an offense to ask one their age,

especially since they age slowly and one can barely tell who is a

hundred. But this man going as far as asking about Moon’s Wrath

Alpha’s age tells just how fearless he is.

“My

Alpha is twenty-nine. I’m twenty-seven. Freck is twenty-six,”

Zeedar responds anyway, in a flat tone.

“I

heard that before your Alpha, there was a first,” Reamer presses

on.

“He’s

dead,” Zeedar replies curtly, “but wasn’t he part of your pack?

You should have known that.”

“He

rarely showed himself. But the day my Alpha killed him, he saw his

face. My Alpha keeps professing how beautiful the man was.”

Zeedar

nods about three times while looking away, his jaws clenching without

his control.

Reamer

notices that and asks, “Was that offensive?”

Zeedar’s

lips twitch a little, forming a tight smile. “Not at all.”

“Well,

I just thought since he was ‘part

of our pack’, you

wouldn’t mind.”

Zeedar

noted how Reamer put emphasis on the ‘part

of our park’,

probably as a sarcastic reply to his question.

Now

he knows that the beta was certainly trying to annoy him while acting

casual. It’s not like the man didn’t know what was offensive or

not.

“As

you may have heard, I have an intimate interest in men,” Reamer

continues. “Your last brother, for example, pleases my heart. I

would have loved it if he were here as well.”

Zeedar

squints his eyes. He didn’t know anyone would be particularly

interested in THAT brother, most especially a Beta of an enemy pack.

Of all people to be attracted to, it’s Freck?

“My

brother is not the best candidate for an escort on a peace mission.

He acts on instinct.”

“Hm.”

Reamer nods, sipping his drink again while never breaking eye contact

with Zeedar. “I hear you’ve been busy with the pack’s company.”

He lets that sentence sink in before proceeding. “You have spent

these past years in the human world, only going on errands assigned

by your Alpha. Why go out of your way now to come here outside your

Alpha’s orders?”

Zeedar

doesn’t respond as he diverts his focus to the food before him.

Usually, he would struggle to not eat a food given to him for fear of

poison.

But

he doesn’t struggle on this one. He won’t eat it unless convinced

it isn’t poisoned.

After

all, if Tribalan pack can kill an Alpha of Moon’s Wrath pack,

what’s there to kill an ambassador?

Reamer

seems to sense the man’s plight. “If my Alpha wanted you dead,

you would have already been the moment you stepped into our

territory. We do not deal with petty stuff like poison, ambassador.”

Zeedar

still isn’t convinced.

Reamer

rises up, walks to his side, and takes a spoon each from his food.

“See?” he says when he doesn’t die after thirty seconds.

However, Zeedar still stares at the food without interest as Reamer

returns to his seat. “Suspecting us of poison goes against your

treaty for peace, ambassador.”

“A

bowl of water,” Zeedar says to a maid, who leaves and returns with

a bowl of water. “Drink it.”

The

maid drinks the water after looking at the beta for permission. Then

Zeedar takes the bowl from her and washes his cutlery in it before

wiping them on his pants.

Now

there’s nothing stopping him from digging into the food.

Although

amazed by the man’s peculiar attitude, Reamer keeps talking. “My

pack and yours were founded by two blood brothers that were orphans

of an exterminated faraway pack. They were Alphas known for their

compassion and kindness. And they took in as many homeless and rogue

wolves as they could. For a long time, both our packs have excelled,

flourishing with equal strengths to the point they leveled with the

Alpha King. It was only because of these Alphas’ loyalty to the

Alpha King that they did not overthrow him. Even when the Alpha King

suddenly disappeared, the packs fought other packs who tried to

overthrow the Alpha King’s pack. They both remained strong

brothers.”

While

Zeedar busied himself with the food, Reamer studied the man’s

reaction to his words while telling to story.

So

far, no reaction.

He

intends to know the ambassador’s true intent for coming here, and

he must squeeze that out of him.

So

he pushes further. “However, eight years ago, the previous alpha of

my pack, his beta, and a son of Moon’s Wrath’s alpha, whom he had

adopted, suddenly died. Their killer then became the new Alpha of

Tribalan pack, known as Alpha Frail. Moon’s Wrath’s Alpha sought

revenge out of anger. He personally stormed here to kill Alpha Frail

himself. People say that was the first time he acted out of emotions.

And that became his last time on earth, as Alpha Frail killed him and

sent his head back to Moon’s Wrath pack, declaring war on the them.

Moon’s Wrath’s new alpha, Ziason Father, second son of the late

alpha, accepted the challenge. Since then, both packs have been

striking little battles that end in loss on both sides. However, even

though both packs have been affected over the years, they merely

climb down the influence rank by a step. Ambassador, do you think any

part of this story is false?”

Zeedar

shakes his head while still eating.

“Then

why have you suddenly made the decision to end the war?” Reamer

asks, completely relaxing in his chair. “According to logic, we

killed your uncle, your father, your brother, and stole the pack that

belonged to your uncle’s children, yet you still want to make peace

with us. Does it make sense?”

Zeedar

stops eating for a moment to speak. “If there’s anything both my

father and my uncle would despise with all their hearts, it’s

seeing the battle between the packs they struggled to build, or

having any one of them crumble. I just want to fulfill their wish of

making sure both packs strive.” He finishes the last of his food.

Even though the maid had served his milk, he doesn’t drink it. He

wipes his lips instead, then shifts nonchalantly in the chair to

adjust himself. “Since you’re done telling your story, can I

finally see your Alpha? I need to speak with him one on one.”

“Before

coming here, you must have known my Alpha doesn’t speak with just

anybody.”

Zeedar’s

stoic gaze lands on the beta. Sharp. Steady. Surrounded by cold air.

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

Reamer sips his wine again. “But he says I should ask if you know

what the prophesy child is.”

“What

is that?”

“Your

alpha didn’t tell you?”

Zeedar

doesn’t know what the man is talking about, but he refuses to look

lost, so he maintains his bland expression.

The

beta notices Zeedar’s effort and smiles, his thick lips stretching

as tiny wrinkles appear around his narrow, dreamy eyes.

“To

stop the war, your alpha has to give up the wide acre of land that

the previous alpha of my pack gifted your father,” he says. “I

know Ziason Father barely sees reason, but I trust you will try to

convince him. If he’s willing to let the land go, we will settle

our disputes.”

“Was

the land your major grievance for triggering an eight-year-old war?”

Zeedar mumbles.

Reamer

huffs. “Because my Alpha asks to settle with the land doesn’t

mean it was his reason for starting a war. We have our grievances,

but we’re willing to put that aside.”

“If

I may ask, what grievances do your alpha have against my pack?”

Some

moments of uncomfortable silence pass between the two before Reamer

sits up in his chair, setting his champagne glass on the table. “With

time, you will find out. For now, let us think about settling the

war.”

Zeedar

blinks once and forgets to do so for the next thirty seconds. “I

have one last question for you,” he mutters. “If I had not come

here, would you have thought of ending the war?”

Reamer

shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Then

why did you agree to the treaty so quickly?”

“You

said last question before.”

“This

one is last.”

“Well,

as you can see, the war is leading no where. We only keep losing

armies and wealth for the past eight years.” Reamer rises to his

feet and adjusts his fitting black shirt before traipsing to Zeedar,

placing his hands on the backrest of the latter’s chair. “It’s

obvious both packs are in the same level of strategical strength and

manpower. The war could stretch to three more generations and there

still would not be a conqueror.”

Zeedar

stands up too, facing the beta. “I didn’t expect the rumored

powerful Alpha Frail of Tribalan pack to give up so easily.”

“People

may not know this, but my alpha is wise. He knows when to stop.”

The

two exchange a goodbye handshake before Zeedar leaves the hall. As

Reamer returns to his seat, he hears a voice in his head.

[You

skipped the last part that says ‘he also knows when to NOT back

down’]

Reamer

reaches for his glass and gulps down allbthe wine in it, then he

replies the voice owner through a mind link. [Alpha,

why did you make me ask him about the prophecy child?]

[The

witches confirmed that his words were true. He truly doesn’t know

about the prophecy, which means Ziason didn’t tell his brothers

about it. He kept it from them for a reason. Probability one, he’s

trying to protect them. Probability two, he doesn’t trust them. I

prefer to bet on the latter.]

[What

are you planning, Alpha?]

[There

is no plan. For now, I want to see how that single information will

reform Zeedar’s mind. I want to see how much trust the brothers can

afford within themselves, and I want to see how strong their famous

powerful trinity is.]

Wolf

Kingdom.

Moon’s

Wrath Pack.

It’s

been seven days since Heaven arrived at the Moon’s Wrath tower, and

she hasn’t had a good sleep yet.

Today

is one of those days when she wakes up sweating and in fear, when the

sordid visual of her father’s death haunts the walls of her room,

her demons flocking about in the mild darkness; some laughing, some

whispering barbarous ideas into her mind.

‘Kill

yourself.’

‘End

it all.’

‘You

don’t deserve all this.’

‘Your

breakfast fork can be a good weapon.’

‘How

about starve?’

Sitting

up on her bed, Heaven draws her knees to her chest, her chin placed

on them, and her eyes closed as her palms cover her ears.

While

resisting the urge to obey the voices, she tries to convince herself

that they will stop. And, soon, they do—when the door of her room

opens.

Heaven’s

eyes snap open. There stands the maid by the door, her monolid eyes

set on Heaven.

“Morning,

ma’am, you have a dance lesson with Kaicha after breakfast,” she

says quickly while rushing to set a tray of food on Heaven’s

bedside stool.

She

proceeds to light all the candles in Heaven’s room, including the

ones on the vanity that rests beside the window.

Heaven’s

eyes dart to the vanity, its mirror—crafted with curvy intricate

designs—dulled by age. Through it, she captures the maid’s swift

actions, seeing as the candle flames reflect on the girl’s brown

skin, her straight black hair gathered up in a messy bun as usual.

The

mosquito net around Heaven’s bed is quite thick and has a sort of

illusion that presents a clear view of the maid to Heaven even though

the former can only see little of the latter.

Because

of that, the maid walks up to the bed and lifts a part of the net.

Just

then, the window lets in a gush of dawn air that makes the flames

tremble. And Heaven shivers. Not of cold, but of the fear that still

clouds her mind.

“Are

you cold, ma’am? Do you want me to prepare a hot bath for you?”

the maid asks, her brown eyes scrutinizing Heaven’s skin.

Heaven

doesn’t reply, but her eyes are on the girl, glaring. “Why only

you get to ask the questions, and I don’t?” she asks instead.

“You don’t answer my questions, and you expect me to answer all

of yours?”

The

maid sighs. “Hot bath it is, then,” she says before letting go of

the net and heading to the bathroom.

Heaven’s

fingers tighten into a fist as she closes her eyes again, though she

reopens them just in time as the maid reenters the room after a few

minutes.

“Your

bath and breakfast is set, ma’am,” the latter announces while

making for the door. But Heaven is faster.

She

leaps out of the bed in a flash, jumping to the maid’s position and

grabbing her by the arm.

“Tell

me, what really is going on?” she asks in a frenzy but suddenly

pauses. Was that really the right question? At times like this, she

just needs one question. One meaningful question that provides the

answer to all others. “Why does Ziason want Kaicha to dance so

badly?” she queries again.

Ziason

going all these lengths just to teach Kaicha dance seems unfair. It

can’t simply be that the girl wanted to dance.

There

must be something.

There’s

always something that triggers an action, or series of actions, in

the wolf kingdom.

If

only she can find out why Ziason wants Kaicha to dance, then she can

understand why she’s here and what’s going on. She may also be

able to figure out a way to save herself from all these.

“There

has been talks of a huge war that will claim a lot of lives,

including ours,” the maid says as she forcefully removes Heaven’s

hand from hers, “yet all

you think about are books and some dead bodies. Many lives depend on

how you behave, ma’am. One wrong step and a lot could die. Please

consider that.”

The

girl leaves the room, while Heaven stands stunned.

She

doesn’t understand the meaning of the maid’s last sentences. From

how she sees things, it’s her life is in the hands of the Alpha,

not other lives being in her hands.

One

day, her corpse could be among the male corpses that are always

carried out of the tower. And the worst thing is nobody would know of

how she died. No one would ask about her in the human world, and no

one knows her here in the wolf kingdom.

Since

she can’t understand most things about this place, she has to act

fast. Even though it’s risky, she’ll try escaping. Who knows,

Ziason’s threat about killing her if she escapes could be empty

threats to keep her in check.

After

pacing her room for a while, Heaven dashes out of it.

She

goes straight down to the gym, peeking into it to find Ziason hasn’t

arrived. That’s good. Before he would come here and discover that

she was gone, she would be far gone.

But

she doesn’t know how she’ll leave yet.

Since

the doors are locked, Heaven scrutinizes the windows. The only halls

that are accessible to Heaven are the gym, the ground hall, and the

dance hall. And all three halls have locked windows, unlike the rooms

in the top floors that are without windows.

Ziason

probably installed the windows to block her escape. But he undermined

her. She’ll certainly find a way.

Heaven

pulls the handles of all the windows in the ground hall and the gym.

They’re pretty strong, so she needs something strong enough to

break one down. And her eyes just happen to catch Ziason’s

dumbbells.

Heaven

smiles, reaching for them. “There you are.”

She

picks up the one with lesser weight; the one she can lift and haul.

Then she throws it at the gym window, which forms a crack on the

wood.

She

hauls the dumbbell at the window again. This time, a good chunk of

the latter falls of, making it easier for Heaven to pull off the rest

of the wood with her hands. While doing so, a sharp piece of wood

slits the palm of her right hand, blood sipping out of the cut

ignored.

The

window isn’t too high to climb, so she mounts it and jumps down

outside the tower, her heart beating fast as she darts to the main

gate.

Some

days ago, when a little rain fell, Heaven looked down her window and

found a small trail of water flowing out through a spot on the bottom

of the fence—beside the main gate.

She

finds the spot and realizes it’s an arched carve big enough to fit

her, although barricaded by a cage.