The Alpha of the 13th District

Cliffside near the Alpha's fortress.

The sky was like bruised skin, marked with fading gold and bloody indigo.

Below, a ravine breathed cold air, like an ancient monster slowly awakening from a long sleep.

The wind howled.

As if searching for something.

As if recognizing something.

And between darkness and light, the world stopped breathing.

Kiera stood at the edge of the ravine, the afternoon's silence swallowed by the wind, as if the dead were whispering to her.

The ground beneath her feet was hard, but the surroundings were alive; the trees swayed in the fury of the wind, the clouds gradually consumed the sun, until the sky became the color of blood and silver.

A sign of change.

Her cloak strained against the wind, but her stance remained firm.

In her left hand, she held the Council's decree: crumpled, creased, but still whole. In her right hand was the handle of a torch, its flame battling the darkness that was slowly creeping in.

Her heart was like a drum beaten by her own anger—not fast, but deep.

This was the time.

She had no witnesses, except nature and the ghosts of the Alphas who came before her.

Her feet were almost at the edge of the cliff.

One wrong move, and she could fall into the abyss.

But she wasn't afraid.

Because betrayal was deeper than any ravine.

Let them see me rise because they won't survive long enough to see me fall, she whispered to herself.

She raised the parchment, its edge brushing against the torch's flame.

At first, the fire crept into the corner of the paper, ordinary at first, orange in color, smelling of old ink and dust.

But when the flame touched the body of the contract itself, everything changed.

The fire suddenly rose, turned silver, and seemed to have a life of its own.

It leaped upwards, as if trying to escape its own burning.

From the forest, she heard a rustling.

And then, a raven emerged from the shadows of the trees.

Not an ordinary raven.

It was large, excessively black, as if created from smoke.

Its voice was unnaturally deep, too low for a bird.

Like the voice of a creature issuing a warning.

Kiera looked up.

She didn't retreat.

But she felt it: something was watching.

Something was observing.

The fire of the contract didn't crackle like fire.

It screamed.

Like a soul being burned with each letter.

She heard her own name, as if someone were whispering from the burning parchment.

As if it were cursing her back.

She paused a step,

Her eyes widened.

But even though the wind was trembling, even though the world seemed threatening, she didn't look away.

She wouldn't turn her back on the fire she herself had lit.

And in the final moment, she threw the burning parchment into the ravine.

Without hesitation.

The fire plunged down into the darkness, leaving behind an air redolent with silver, ash, and an ancient spell torn apart by an Alpha who would not yield to chains.

Let them try to chain me. I won't just break the leash... Her voice was cold, but there was fire beneath it. I'll melt it into a blade .and carve my name on their bones.

The Great Hall of the Council.

Its stone walls were high, each pillar cold and hard. On each post, a torch blazed. The light of the flames was like watchful, accusing eyes.

In the center of the hall was the large seal of the United Wolf Territories.

Twelve thrones were arranged in a half-circle, with the twelve Alphas of the different regions seated upon them.

And in the center, alone, stood Kiera.

She stormed into the council hall, her cloak bloodied, her back straight, and without a trace of fear in her eyes.

Each of her footsteps on the marble floor echoed.

Sharp.

Steady.

The eyes of the twelve Alphas turned to her simultaneously.

Some were blazing.

Some were appraising.

But mostly, dangerous.

The air inside the Great Hall wasn't cold, but it felt suffocating.

Every glance at her felt like another knife in the back.

But she didn't retreat.

She still wore the bloodied battle cloak from the last border hunt.

There was a cut on her shoulder that hadn't been stitched yet.

She had deliberately not changed.

She wanted to show the Council who she really was. A warrior. Not a puppet.

In the center of the hall, she stopped.

Her gaze was direct.

Her chin slightly raised.

Even alone, she didn't look defeated.

She was like a wolf among vultures.

Silence reigned.

Then someone whispered from the left, an old Alpha from the Eastern Dunes, with snake tattoos on his neck.

"You come to the Council bloodied, Alpha Kiera. Is that a threat?"

Kiera didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

Her silence was louder than any shout.

The oldest member of the Council cleared his throat.

Alpha Baelor, seated in the center, the speaker for the entire Circle.

His eyes were sharp, his hair gone, but his voice was crisp, like fire on dry wood.

"You were summoned to answer a single question," he said. "Why do you defy the decree?"

Kiera slowly looked up.

She looked at each of them.

One by one.

As if counting who would rise if the war began.

At the end of her sweep of eyes, she spoke, clearly, without hesitation.

"Paper means nothing to me. I kneel to no ink. I bleed for my pack—not politics."

Her words echoed through the hall.

Like lightning striking the silence.

Some Alphas smiled, others frowned.

"And yet the paper is signed in blood," countered Alpha Cassien from the South Sea Province, seated on a golden throne, his hands laden with jewels. "Yours."

"Not mine," Kiera replied immediately, "Theirs. Forged. Forced. A blood signature means nothing if the heart didn't consent."

Something moved at the back of the room; a parchment was placed on the table.

The decree.

The same contract she had burned in the ravine.

But this was a different copy.

She looked at the symbol moving at the end of the document.

The silver fire she had tried to extinguish even though it was still alive.

"That decree was destroyed. And yet, it returns."

A cold laugh filled the air.

"You forget, Alpha," said the female Alpha from the Glacial Tribes. "Magic doesn't burn. Only the disobedient do."

Suddenly, everything fell silent.

Kiera didn't move.

But her eyes blazed.

She took a step forward, as if ready to attack, but controlled.

The tension in her body was like a drawn knife.

The wolf within her snarled, pressing against her chest, ready to burst forth.

"So this is judgment?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips. "A room full of vultures waiting for me to bleed?"

"We offer you alliance."

"You offer me chains."

An Alpha on the far right stood.

"You dare question the Council?"

"I question the kind of power that needs forced obedience."

Silence again.

But this time, she was no longer alone in the atmosphere.

Even the torches flickered differently, as if a wind had passed through. Or a spirit.

She stood there, a lone Alpha, bloodied, bruised, and burning.

But unbroken.

A private chamber deep within the Council Hall.

The walls were black stone, carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with red light. A single torch burned blue on the far wall. At the center: a long obsidian table, cold to the touch. On it rested a glowing scroll, sealed in crimson. Behind it, mounted on the wall, an enchanted mirror—large as a door—reflecting not the room, but something far more dangerous: fear.

The room was silent, but the silence was not restful.

It was like a wandering soul, observing her.

Quieting her.

Kiera entered without a guard.

But she sensed she wasn't alone.

The air here smelled of burning and age, like flowers buried in ashes.

In the center of the room, the enchanted mirror shimmered.

But it didn't show her current form.

No.

It showed her fears.

Her wolf—caged.

Her pack—burning.

Children—screaming.

Smoke—reaching the sky like the arms of the dead.

She gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling to her knees.

There too was the scroll, glowing in the darkness.

A red glow, like the heart of an animal that had been killed but refused to die.

On top of the contract, her signature shimmered.

It wasn't ink, but blood and life.

She looked around.

No windows.

No doors to escape.

This was a room created for choice—or defeat.

And from the shadows, one of the oldest Elders emerged.

Clad in gray, his footsteps made no sound.

Like a shadow with a face.

"You wanted answers," he whispered.

"Here they are."

He placed his hand on top of the parchment.

Kiera's eyes focused on the contract.

"If I break the bond...?" she asked, almost inaudible from the intensity of her clenched emotions.

"If you tear the bond, the punishment falls not on you but on your pack," the Elder whispered, his voice like the voice of the law itself.

The world stopped.

"One life for many, Alpha," he added. "You know the rules. We bind by blood."

Kiera closed her eyes.

But even with her eyes closed, she heard the fire.

She heard the screams.

And behind her eyelids, the image in the mirror returned:

Her pack.

Blazing.

Begging.

They were the ones burning because she had refused.

Her breath nearly caught in her throat.

Not from fear.

From rage.

From bitter hopelessness.

This wasn't a choice.

This was a trap.

This was a chain.

A chain that would bind her freedom, a chain she might never escape.

She looked into the mirror.

There she saw herself, wearing a royal robe, but imprisoned in a dark dungeon, like a void.

In front, a wolf was crying.

A young omega.

And behind the image, her.

Smiling.

They wrapped my hands in velvet, she whispered, painful, full of fire in her throat. But it still strangles.

A silence enveloped the room again.

But inside Kiera, the howl of her wolf raged, furious.

She didn't look at the Elder.

She looked at the fire in the corner of the room.

Its light, blue, trembling.

She wanted to take the scroll.

Burn it again.

She wanted to defy the law.

But her hand trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of the choice.

One life in exchange for many.

One heart for the entire tribe.

But the question wasn't what was right.

The question was, how long would the innocent pay for the Council's sins?