Birth of the young Alpha

And from today I feel the warmth I never got from my rival sisters. The war over who would take Mother’s throne—nine daughters tearing at each other—drove us apart.

The gentleness of Rauth toward me grows each day, but the walls of my heart are not easily broken.

Still, I find myself wandering into the thought of how I managed to keep holding on to Varyn, even when he slipped through my grasp like wet claws.

The memory of my father never leaves me. Each day I pray that every full moon shines as though I am smiling at him, keeping him in comfort that I have found a home.

I never said goodbye. But his words on the night before everything fell apart keep me alive:

“Rejection is not fatal. Hopelessness is.”

When I lift my eyes, Rauth is there. He always comes when my spirit breaks.

Rauth: “Are you okay?”

Me: humming softly as I nod

Rauth: “How’s the babe kicking?”

Me: “As hard as he should.”

Rauth smiles, his eyes sparkling at the answer.

My heart stumbles at the sight of him, and inside, a voice echoes: Daddy, I have found hope.

Each day this outlawed pack becomes more my family. Together they nurse me, turn by turn. Days pass into weeks. Weeks fold into moons. And now—the ninth full moon rises.

The sun is high, yet rain falls. As cursed as this pregnancy feels, the labor is worse.

Breath gasps, pain crushes me. My claws tear at the earth, but even the ground offers no hold against it.

When surrender feels easier than fighting, I look around. The she-wolves who never asked for this are here. Rauth is at my side—the man I never intended to lean on.

“Serenya,” I scream my own name. Then I whisper fiercely, “It is not yet time to give you up.”

The shaman senses the shift between life and death. She screams in fear:

Shaman: “Stay with me, Serenya! Stay with me

drift into a thin slumber.

Lanterns flicker one by one. When I open my eyes, evening presses in; I have been laboring all day. Whispered voices cross the tent and snag at my attention.

I clutch Rauth’s hand, begging him to tell me what is happening outside. He keeps silent, guarding me. Desperate, I turn to a younger wolf.

Me: “Please… tell me. What is happening? I am in so much pain. It can’t be too much to ask.”

Tears spill down her face as she grips my hand.

Young wolf: “My lady… we are in pitch darkness. The full moon has not risen. It should already crown the sky, yet the night is empty.”

Her head bows, sorrow weighing her down.

Young wolf: “Darkness has fallen on us.”

Hearing those words, I drop back—not only my body, but my soul sinking with it.

The young she-wolf grips my hand, her voice shaking.

“You must not lose strength, my lady.”

Outside, I hear them—the shaman and the other she-wolves. Their chants rise into the night, steady, desperate, weaving a moon-cleansing ritual. Yet the sky remains bare.

Rauth’s voice cuts through the haze, firm, commanding.

“Right now—focus on pushing. Serenya, we need your full strength. The pup must be born.”

The midwife kneels closer, her voice softer but urgent.

“Listen to your body. Let it lead you.”

I nod, but it’s hollow, my head moving while the rest of me drifts away. She checks me, quick and precise, and the fire inside me erupts.

“Help me!” The cry tears from my chest, no longer a plea but a command. My voice shakes the air, laced with fire I didn’t know I had.

“Drag him out of me—do something, anything!”

In that moment, a truth claws through me: the agony of a mother does not guarantee the safety of her child. So I make a choice—if nothing else, I will save myself.

I fix my eyes on the midwife, voice breaking.

“Tell me what to do!”

She falters, as if she didn’t hear me right. Rage and pain twist into one, and I scream again, louder, claws gouging deep into the furs.

“Tell me what to do!”

Her eyes steady. Her voice sharpens.

“Serenya—you will take a deep breath.”

I gasp, my chest heaving.

“Huurh… huurh…”

“Slowly,” she insists. “Again.”

“Huurh… huurh…”

“And now—push.”

I bear down, breath shattering, muscles tearing.

Again. And again. By the seventh push, the world dissolves into fire. My body forgets, but something older remembers.

I throw back my head and let loose a howl—raw, primal, wolf. It rips from my throat and splits the air, shattering every boundary I once feared to cross.

The lining of my body tears with it, blood and pain colliding—

and then, sudden release.

The pup slips free of me, crying into the night.

And instantly, I hear it—the roar of voices outside. Praises for the full moon rise into the night, shaking the den walls.

In awe, the shaman cries out, her voice carrying over the chants:

“What darkness calls forth light!”

The midwife lowers the pup into my arms. For the first time, my tears are not born of pain but of joy.

His heartbeat thrums against mine, wild and steady, like a drum of life pulling me back from the edge. My chest tightens, and through the tears, I whisper:

“I name him Elarion… for you are my light born in sorrow.”