Chapter 4: The Rogue Deity

“Rogue Deity? No, I’ve never heard of such an entity,” Alinta replied, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“As you know, the title of ‘rogue’ is reserved for criminals among our kind, not for a wolf who leaves family or friends to wander alone. The Deity in this tale was a powerful wolf, created to control and subdue immoral werewolves of power: kings and leaders, those who ruled through fear,” Deanna explained, her expression bright with excitement. “Men of power grew increasingly corrupt due to their human disposition, easily susceptible to temptation.” 

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I think I need to start from the very beginning!”

“No, she always does this!” Angela groaned within the confines of her person's mind. Alinta only smiled, stifling a laugh. Unlike her wolf, she never minded; Aunt Deanna's storytelling was an art to behold.

“Now,” Deanna began, lowering her voice into the rhythm of a practiced tale, “around 2100 BC, our kind came into being. A dark witch cursed a shepherd for selling her a sickly lamb. The hex was meant to last only until his flock was gone. However, in her fury, she made a mistake in her spell. Before she could undo it, the villagers captured and killed her. When the shepherd ran out of sheep, his hunger turned upon his family – then upon the rest of the village.”

She leaned forward, her tone grave. “Our ancestors were infected humans, unlike the werewolves born today. Their transformations were uncontrollable and occurred only beneath the full moon. Shifting was akin to a plague; when they bit other humans, the victims could turn as well, if they were fortunate enough to survive. Consequently, far more men than women were recorded as werewolves. During these transformations, they became entirely animalistic, attacking and killing anything in their path.”

Alinta shivered at the thought, silently thanking the Moon for being born in this era.

“It was then that the Divinities breathed life into the Moon, making him our God, guardian, and caretaker. Why the Moon, you wonder? Because it was under a full moon that our ancestors shifted. To quell the beastly behaviour and the curse of transformation, the Moon split the human and wolf into two souls, bound together by empathy and strength. That was his first miracle.

"However, problems followed. Some werewolves took human lovers and turned them. Our numbers grew rapidly, creating an imbalance, especially considering that werewolves live up to five hundred years. In response, the Moon performed his second miracle: the mate bond. Only wolves could share it, and the ability to turn humans was stripped away. There is, however, a legend that those of royal blood could still turn their chosen, but with those bloodlines long dead, it is dismissed as myth.”

Deanna settled back in her chair. “Years later, as we began to settle and establish colonies, certain powerful kings and leaders abused their authority. One infamous example, as you may know, was King Argo Appius the Second. He was a frightening creature, and his wolf, Caym, was no different. 

“They ruled for many years and nearly brought our people to ruin. He ignored the mate bond, collecting wives and mistresses, even abducting beautiful humans, vampires, and shifters alike. He embodied unrestrained lust, which unfortunately gave rise to many of the crude tales associated with our kind. He had to be stopped, but no creature nor human could defeat him. You may have heard he was brought to ruin by his own madness, but that is not the full story."

Alinta leaned closer, her heart drumming. She had never been satisfied with the tale of King Argo Appius’ demise through insanity. A part of her wished he had remained sound, so he could fully comprehend the weight of the suffering he deserved to endure.

Deanna’s smile widened knowingly. “The Divinities would not interfere, for it was the Moon’s burden to bear. So, he performed his third miracle: he created Raguel, a lesser deity tasked with punishing corrupt wolves. Raguel could enter their minds and challenge their beasts. When defeated, the wolf was torn away and returned to the Moon, leaving the man hollow, wolf-less. In turn, the man took the place of his former wolf, trapped within his mind.

“That was Argo’s fate, to watch as Raguel possessed his body, undoing all the wickedness he had wrought, ultimately leaving him without a wolf. He suffered the agony of that loss and endured everlasting punishment. And that, my dear, is how Argo truly lost his mind.”

Alinta's heart fluttered with satisfaction at this new revelation, and even Angela relished the twist.

“For decades, Raguel brought balance, but even he was not invincible. Though the Moon is a powerful god, he has his limitations, for he remains a lesser divinity compared to the true Divinities. Nevertheless, it is said that he was graciously granted the power to perform five divine miracles, intended to preserve harmony between our kind and the rest of the world.

“Raguel’s doom came at the fangs of Crustblood the Terrible, a tyrant and sorcerer, descended from Argo. Crustblood’s wolf, Draven, was cunning. He deceived Raguel into lowering his guard and, using forbidden magic, devoured him. From that act, Draven gained immense power and a will of his own. He imprisoned his human within his mind and consumed his soul as well.

“He grew into a monstrous black wolf, eyes glowing amethyst, violet lightning crackling across his body. Relentless and insatiable, he hungered for domination. Any who dared call him a ‘lesser deity’ were slaughtered. Instead, he came to be known as the Rogue Deity. Even today, the few who know this tale do not utter the words ‘lesser deity’ in reference to him, for fear of falling under his curse.”

Deanna’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Some claim he perished, and became one with the earth. Others believe he waits for the eighth crimson full moon to rise, ready to wreak havoc upon this world – just as foretold by the famed sorceress Elda Forelight. She prophesied that his sole purpose would be to slay his creator and seize the Moon's place, ruling over us all.”

Alinta stared at Deanna in awe, until realisation struck her. “That's just around the corner!” she exclaimed.

“In two weeks, on your thirtieth birthday, to be exact,” the old woman giggled hauntingly, as though delighted in her guest’s unease.

Alinta laughed, masking her discomfort. “Oh, come on, Aunt Deanna. I’m not a child anymore. You’ll have to do better than that!”

“You're no fun,” the old woman pouted in mock disappointment.

“Wow, so we have a devil version of a werewolf? How come I never heard of this before? Does the tale say where the creature disappeared to?” Alinta asked, utterly absorbed. Even Angela sat in dead silence, eager for Deanna’s answer.

“The Moon wept for Raguel. Some say the countless stars scattered across the heavens are his shed tears, etched there forever to commemorate that loss. To confront Draven, the Moon performed his fourth miracle: he severed his bond with his celestial wolf and sent the great Silver Lord down to Earth to stop the creature. It is said that since the Moon and his wolf parted, werewolves have been unable to hear his voice.”

Deanna sighed heavily, the weight of her words lingering. “Draven escaped with wounds, but not defeat, and he has remained dormant ever since. Some believe he vanished eastward, into the barren valley beneath Bare Mountain's Shadow.”

Her eyes hardened. “As wolves devoted to the Moon, many werewolves opposed sharing the tale of the Rogue Deity openly. They do not wish to portray the Moon as flawed to future generations. This story is entrusted only among the elders, to ensure it is remembered. In doing so, it reminds us to honour the sacrifices the Moon made to watch over his children.” 

Angela, unbothered by the gravity of Deanna’s words, rolled her eyes defiantly.

“But why did you tell me this?” Alinta asked, curiosity unmistakable.

“Since your birthday is approaching, I thought this was fitting,” Deanna replied with her contagious smile. “And you, my child, are the only wolf I trust who shares my passion for our heritage. But be warned: do not speak freely of this tale. Many will be angered, especially those utterly devoted to the Moon.”

“I won't,” Alinta promised, “but I would like to conduct my own research on it.”

“Yes, please do! Let me know if you uncover anything interesting. Who knows what theories and rumours the internet hides these days?” Deanna exclaimed, her blue eyes twinkling.

“I promise,” Alinta said, making a mental note.

Deanna smiled and rose, heading toward the kitchen. Alinta welcomed the pause, allowing herself to reflect on the lore once more. It fascinated her, particularly the Moon and his imperfections. She and Angela harboured grievances of their own with their God, but they never voiced them, wary of the consequences.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked muffins wafting through the room.