The sky above the Umbra Clan stronghold hung dark and heavy, thick with storm clouds that mirrored the mood inside the towering stone fortress. In the council chamber—a long hall lined with high pillars and carvings of the clan's history—the tension was palpable.
Dozens of eyes were locked on the central platform, where Orion Nyx stood draped in a deep black cloak that swept the floor. The torchlight flickered around him, casting a larger-than-life shadow—though shadow doesn't always mean strength.
"I led this clan through chaos," Orion said, his voice cold but steady. "When Umbra lost its Alpha, who stood up and led? I did."
A murmur of doubt rippled through the crowd. One man stepped forward—silver-haired with a gaze like sharpened steel. Elric. One of the oldest remaining elders.
"You're not of Umbra blood," he said with a hiss. "You're no direct descendant. Just an orphan the old Alpha picked up during the war. You never should've been on that throne."
Several others nodded and stood. The air in the chamber thickened, like a storm about to break. Orion scanned their faces one by one, his eyes unreadable.
"I don't need your bloodline to prove my worth," he said. "Or have you forgotten who led our forces when the borders fell? Who executed the traitors from within? This clan survived because of me."
"Or," came another voice—a young Beta named Harven—"because Theron hasn't returned. The moment he does, all of this ends."
The name dropped like a hammer.
Theron. The rightful heir. The Alpha's blood. A name whispered more and more in the shadows—sometimes with hope, sometimes with fear.
Orion's fists clenched, his jaw tightening.
"Theron," he said, voice low but ringing, "is a failure. Weak. Easily manipulated. Too soft to lead. The Umbra Clan needs strength, not mercy."
Another elder rose from his seat. "Or maybe you're just scared of him coming back. Because even after he fell off that cliff, many believe he's still alive. And if he is… no bloodline twist will save you from the truth."
A flicker of fury flashed in Orion's eyes. He stepped down from the platform, his movements slow but deliberate.
"I've tolerated your doubts long enough," he said coolly. "But let me be clear—anyone who questions my place here is welcome to test me. In the arena. Or stay silent and kneel."
The chamber fell into silence. Not the kind born of fear, but the kind that waits—for a fight, for a reckoning.
Later, in the solitude of his chambers, Orion threw his cloak onto a chair. His eyes drifted toward the window, where the moon loomed nearly full.
"You'd better be dead, Theron," he murmured, like a prayer spoken to the night.
"Because if you're not… everything I've built will fall."
**
In the eastern edges of Umbra Clan territory—far from the seat of power and the council tower—there lay a small clearing, hidden behind ancient trees and moss-covered stones. It used to be a training ground for young warriors, but now, in the shadow of rising rebellion, it had become a secret meeting place.
Night had fully fallen, the only light coming from a small, carefully kept fire that flickered low. Six figures stood in a loose circle: two warriors, an old Omega, and a young Beta named Vaerin. Their eyes met in tense silence, ears tuned to the faintest rustle in the surrounding woods.
"This isn't about strength anymore," Vaerin said quietly, his tone sharp with conviction. "It's about who deserves it. Orion… he's not one of us. He doesn't understand Umbra's honor."
The old Omega, Maelis, nodded slowly, resting both hands on the wooden staff balanced on her knees. "Umbra was built on bloodlines. We descend from the shadow-conquerors, not from someone's ambition project."
One of the warriors, Fenrik, lifted his face toward the firelight. He was young, but the scar down his cheek said he'd seen more than his share of battles. "But do we even have a choice? We don't know where Theron is. Maybe all this talk is just wishful thinking."
"No," another voice cut in—Rhia, a wiry woman with piercing dark eyes. "A scout friend of mine swears he saw someone like Theron near the Forest of Sorrow. Badly wounded, but alive. Still breathing."
Vaerin tightened his grip around his wrist, trying to hide the subtle tremble in his fingers. "If that's true… then we have two options: wait and hope—or act and go find him."
Maelis looked around at them, her voice old but steady. "If you stay in the shadows too long, eventually the shadows swallow you whole. This clan… it won't survive much longer under a leader driven by hunger, not legacy."
"If we go looking for Theron," Fenrik asked, "wouldn't that make us traitors to the clan?"
Rhia let out a low, sarcastic laugh. "The clan? Or Orion? Because right now, Umbra's just a name. All that's left is a throne held by a wolf who only cares about power, not unity."
Silence settled between them. The little fire danced in the wind, flickering as if sensing the weight of the decision taking root in their silence.
Vaerin drew in a deep breath. "If we stay here, we kneel to Orion and watch everything fall apart. But if we go—if we find Theron—at least we'll know we're fighting for something that still means something."
Maelis stood, her eyes lifting to the stars hidden behind clouds. "True Umbra blood doesn't just vanish. Even if we have to walk through darkness to find it."
And that night, beneath the veil of shadow, a decision was made: some of them would leave to search for Theron—even if it meant defying the wolf who now ruled the throne.
Umbra was cracking.
And through those cracks, truth had started to seep in.
"So should we move now? Looking for the rightful heir of the umbra clan? But the forest of misery? Hasn't anyone managed to get through it? There wasn't even a gap for light to enter the forest."
"What are you doing there?" Orion's voice broke the discussion, everyone fell silent and looked at each other.