Ancestral Lineage

A month ago…

Ever since the evolution and awakening of Princess Emma Duskhaven into the Wolf Primogenitor, Fenrir, changes and transformation had clasped the icy lands of their home in their massive claws.

The place which was initially without a specific name was given one, Fenrir.

That was how the change started. The werewolf packs came together under one banner with one pack leading them and one ruler giving the final command.

The original royal family, the Duskhaven pack was maintained. Emma became Queen, elevated from her original position as a Princess.

She was after all their origin and Primogenitor and she couldn't be classified in the same pit as them. She was a divine being now. She had inherited the power of the first wolf, one of the legendary Divine Beasts of myths.

Local wolf packs around joined the Fenrir. Delegates were sent all around the nameless icy world to preach of the good news, "their god was back!"

In just a few days, werewolf packs streamed towards Fenrir and settled down, integrating into the larger pack under the leadership of the Duskhaven pack and their sole Queen, Emma.

But that wasn't enough, at least for her. She had achieved so much in just a few days. She had accomplished a great feat in the history of werewolves but something was left. Something that was only important to her and her alone. Something so important that, her vast authority and power couldn't grant it.

She needed a mate. And not just any mate. She needed, him. Her soulmate. The one her soul longs for.

The only who could fill the hole, both physically and spiritually.

No one else could do that. She had fought countless men, all wanting her as a mate. She had defeated all of them too, with little to no effort.

It had been so easy that, her wise father figured out and came to a realization that her mate could most likely be from another race. And he was right in saying so.

None of the other wolves could stand against her then and now. The only wolf close enough to withstand her pressure in her real form was her father. The rest just turn into respectful and obedient wolves, awaiting the command of their Queen.

Her mate was somewhere else; close but distant.

A week ago, a passing delegate from Anbord had chanced upon the growing kingdom of Fenrir. He had requested for rest in their kingdom which he was granted.

His name was El Draco, a red wolf.

Yes! He was a werewolf from Anbord.

Queen Emma got notice of his arrival and requested an audience with him which led to her discovering a lot about the outside world and mostly of Anbord, an Empire of different races all ruled and governed by a single individual, Emperor Ethan Kael'Dri.

That name, struck a chord in her very soul, like she knew him. A very strange and confusing phenomenon, to be honest. She was beyond shocked at this revelation.

'Is he perhaps…' she had asked herself after El Draco left.

That aside, El Draco had proposed an alliance of nations to her. As for the benefits and requirements, only the Emperor, his Empresses and his Kings could decide that. He was but a mere messenger, albeit a very strong one. She had felt it.

This messenger's power was on the level of her elder brother, just below her father.

'Just how powerful is this Empire to send such a powerful man as a messenger?'

She was very stricken. What she didn't know was that, El Draco wasn't an official messenger.

El Draco was actually on a quest to evolve into a Lava Wolf and if possible, an Infermis.

He meeting the packs of Fenrir was a coincidence and probably a blessing in disguise for them.

Upon her request, El Draco activated a strange device—an arcane-looking panel that hovered mid-air, shimmering with glowing glyphs in a language unfamiliar to her. It responded to his touch and voice, casting ripples of light across the cold air. Despite his foreign origins, he spoke their tongue fluently, his words sharp and precise like a true son of the wolves.

Within moments, a reply came—not in words, but in action.

Anbord responded with remarkable swiftness and respect. Through the authority of one of the Empire's Kings and a Sovereign, a transport vessel was dispatched to the icy expanse of Fenrir. It tore through the clouds like a beast of steel and fire, descending with grace and power onto their sacred land.

This act alone spoke volumes. It was not merely hospitality—it was diplomacy wrapped in reverence.

It showed that the Empire of Anbord was not only aware of Fenrir's rise but willing to embrace it. The gesture was bold, an open arm extended across the frostbitten world, bearing both respect and strategic intent.

It was more than an offer of alliance—it was an acknowledgment. An acknowledgment of Emma Duskhaven. Of Fenrir. Of a Primogenitor.

…

The sky above the icy spires of Fenrir was painted in the pale glow of a never-setting twilight, a haunting luminescence that shimmered across the frozen peaks and valleys of the newly unified werewolf dominion. Snowflakes drifted lazily, touched by the psychic warmth that now emanated from the heart of the city — the Palace of Frosted Fangs.

Within its towering halls of enchanted ice and bone-carved architecture, Queen Emma Duskhaven stood before a massive stone mirror lined with frozen wolf pelts, her reflection regal and fierce. Her snow white hair was braided into intricate knots, signifying her lineage and divine status. Her eyes — glowing a soft blue laced with silver — held the calm fury of a storm long contained.

She wore a mantle of black and glacial blue, woven from the hide of an Elder Wyrm slain in the north during her ascension. Across her collarbone sat a torque of obsidian carved with ancient Fenrir runes — a symbol of authority only the Primogenitor could wear.

Behind her, the palace stirred.

Down the grand staircase lined with snarling wolf statues, Prime Alpha Lupine Duskhaven, her father and once King of the nameless kingdom of werewolves , strode in silence. His presence was a tempest, cloaked in a long fur-lined coat that seemed to radiate primal authority. His silvery-white beard, laced with streaks of ash black, marked him as a wolf of countless battles. At his back was his huge ancestral war axe, Fangcleaver, humming with dormant bloodlust.

"My Queen," he said, bowing not as a father, but as her First Claw. "The royal Alpha guard awaits. All is prepared."

Emma nodded, her voice like a gust across ice. "Good. Today, we represent all of Fenrir — not just our bloodline. We stand not as conquerors, but as equals seeking unity."

Lupine's stern gaze softened, pride flashing briefly. "You have grown into the storm, daughter."

Moments later, within the great outer courtyard known as The Maw, a dozen towering figures knelt in formation — the Royal Alpha Guard. Clad in obsidian-scale armor inlaid with glacial steel and bone, each guard radiated the controlled savagery of the Fenrir elite. Their helms bore wolf-muzzles and icy visors, their breath misting in the cold. Across their backs, enormous glaives and rune-etched greatswords shimmered with ancestral power.

One by one, they rose as Emma and Lupine descended the steps. Drums thundered once in reverence. The growl of ancient horns echoed across the ice, signaling the departure of Fenrir's champions.

A sleek transport aircraft — unlike anything they had seen before — hovered above the palace courtyard, its form forged from blackened alloy and glowing amber veins. The sigil of Anbord blazed on its sides like a living brand.

As the ramp lowered, warm wind poured out in contrast to the frigid air. The moment of departure had come.

Emma turned to her people, who had gathered in silence on the palace terraces and surrounding towers. Thousands of werewolves — from ancient lineages to the recently unified packs — bowed in unison, a great howl rising from them like a prayer carried to the heavens.

Emma placed a hand over her chest. "We go not to bend… but to rise beside them."

And with that, the Queen of Fenrir and her elite retinue stepped aboard, cloaked in sovereignty, silence, and the weight of a thousand howls at their back.

…

The interior of the aircraft shimmered with a sleek, ethereal glow — smooth walls of obsidian alloy pulsed gently with amber light, like the veins of some living beast. The air inside was warm and strangely clean, scented faintly with copper and ozone. There was no scent of frost, blood, or iron — only stillness and hum.

Queen Emma stepped forward first, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. The floor beneath her feet responded with a soft vibration, like a heart beating beneath the hull. Her Alpha guards entered behind her in formation, eyes alert, hands near weapons — though none dared draw. They had fought leviathans and spectral beasts in the snow — but this? This was foreign magic.

"What manner of spirit dwells in this vessel?" muttered one of the guards, his voice low and uncertain.

A low chuckle answered him.

"None," said a calm, clear voice.

Two figures awaited them — werewolves, like themselves, but dressed in the regal black and gold livery of Anbord. The male attendant was tall and broad-shouldered, his fur a dark chestnut shade with golden eyes that sparkled with patience. The female had pale-gray fur and wore a tightly braided crown of hair, her posture graceful, every motion practiced and respectful.

"No spirits," she said warmly, "only Anbord science… and some very old relics awakened by the Emperor's will."

Lupine Duskhaven stepped forward, arms folded, sniffing the air. "This thing floats. How?"

The male attendant smiled. "Psychic crystal matrices and a gravity inversion core. It rides thought, motion, and blood-forged memory."

One of the younger Alpha guards whispered to another, "It's alive…"

Emma touched one of the smooth walls, and it responded with a ripple of light that danced across the surface. "Not alive," she murmured, "but watching."

"Please," said the female attendant, bowing slightly, "allow us to show you to your seats. The craft will ascend shortly. There will be no discomfort — you are under the Emperor's protection."

They were ushered to seats shaped like thrones of dark crystal and velvet. The moment they sat, the seats adjusted to their forms — supporting, embracing, reading them. A few guards grunted in surprise, others growled softly in instinctive protest.

Emma, however, sat in perfect stillness, her eyes narrowing with sharp interest. "Fascinating," she said. "Anbord has tamed the sky."

The male attendant gave a low, respectful nod. "Not tamed, Your Majesty. Only partnered with it."

The aircraft shuddered gently, then began to rise. The Fenrir wolves instinctively reached for stability, though the cabin remained perfectly level. Through the translucent black walls, they could see the vast frozen land of Fenrir shrink beneath them — and beyond that, the horizon curving like the back of a slumbering god.

Even Lupine Duskhaven, grizzled warlord of the North, stared out the window in silence — as though the stars themselves had shifted to make room for something greater.

Queen Emma leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, and smirked.

"Then let the skies carry us. We'll see what this Anbord truly is."