The sun rose, casting pale light over the landscape and illuminating the cave’s jagged walls with a cold, bluish glow. Outside, the air was sharp and biting, carrying the crisp scent of frost and pine. This cold, harsh environment was home to Pride, a rebel group formed to resist King Xeno’s growing tyranny.
Their sanctuary lay on the border between Lupa, the land of perpetual winter, and Calminac, a region locked in an everlasting summer. Pride knew it was only a matter of time before Xeno’s army discovered their hiding place. They had to remain vigilant. Though the thick brush of the Lupa forest provided cover, it also cloaked the air in tension. Every shadow felt heavy with danger, and every rustling leaf could herald an approaching threat.
Zaxius walked among the Wolfkin rebels as they relocated deeper into the forest, still getting used to their strange customs and the intense cold that seemed to invigorate them. He had been thrust into a world he didn’t fully understand, surrounded by warriors who exuded a quiet intensity. Pride encompassed different groups scattered across Zalchron, each fighting against Xeno’s rule in their own way, but this particular subgroup—the northern Pride—was made up entirely of Wolfkin. Their neighboring clans had long since been exiled or wiped out by King Xeno’s forces.
Despite their differences, all members of Pride shared a common belief: the pride of their land was greater than the fear of monarchy. King Xeno’s decade of cruelty and conquest had fueled the rise of rebellion, and these Wolfkin rebels believed that diplomacy alone would never be enough. Only action, only war, could carve out a future free from Xeno’s iron grip.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, Zaxius noticed a sudden shift in the group. The Wolfkin warriors around him seemed to come alive. Their hair turned silver or white, and their eyes began to glow with a crystalline blue light, as if drawing energy from the frozen air around them. The change wasn’t just physical—it was almost mystical, as though the cold itself had awakened something primal within them.
“Are you all okay?” Zaxius asked, puzzled by their transformation.
Walking beside him, Lyria laughed, her breath clouding in the cold air. “You don’t know about us Wolfkin? We come alive in the cold!” she said, grinning. Zaxius observed her more closely—unlike the others, her hair remained black with white streaks, and her eyes gleamed crimson rather than blue.
Sensing his confusion, Lyria’s smile faded slightly, and her tone turned more serious. “Look, I’m a bit different from everyone else, as some love to remind me. My powers… well, let’s just say they don’t always work the way they should. All Wolfkin are practically born knowing how to live, breathe, and fight as a pack. Meanwhile…” She hesitated, then added quietly, “Let’s just say I tend to work better alone.”
There was something in her voice—loneliness, perhaps even doubt—but Zaxius didn’t press her further. Before the moment could grow awkward, Lyria grabbed his hand suddenly and pulled him forward.
“Come on! We’re falling behind.”
As they hurried through the frozen woods, Zaxius felt something heavier settle over him. Questions lingered in his mind. Why would these people risk their lives for him? Why were they fighting the King? He knew they planned to train him, to teach him how to protect himself—but it felt like more than that. He wasn’t just being trained for survival. He was being prepared for something far greater. Perhaps, without realizing it, he had become part of a struggle much larger than himself—a fight that would decide the future of Zalchron.
The first day of training was grueling. Rhaegus, the stoic leader of the rebels and a former Winter Alpha, wasted no time putting Zaxius to work. As one of the most respected warriors among the Wolfkin, Rhaegus commanded both fear and admiration. The title of Winter Alpha wasn’t just a symbol—it meant he had once been among the twelve most powerful leaders of the clan, guiding them in both war and ritual.
“Pick up the blade,” Rhaegus ordered, his voice low and authoritative as he handed Zaxius a short, frost-forged weapon. The cold metal bit into Zaxius’ skin the moment he touched it. The enchantment imbued in the blade made his fingers numb, but he didn’t let go. He gritted his teeth, his hands trembling as he tried to keep his grip steady.
Rhaegus stood silently, watching. His sharp, wolf-like eyes missed nothing. Despite his young age and clear inexperience, Zaxius displayed a determination that caught the old warrior’s attention.
“Good,” Rhaegus said after a while, his tone neutral but approving. “You may not have strength yet, but you have something more important—the will to keep going.”
The training continued throughout the morning, shifting from weapon mastery to lessons on survival and instinct. Rhaegus taught Zaxius how to read the environment, track prey, and understand how to use the land to his advantage.
“You must always be aware of your surroundings,” Rhaegus said as they walked through the forest. “This land—Zalchron—is alive with mysticism. Learn to feel its pulse, and you’ll never be caught off guard.”
Zaxius glanced at Rhaegus, taking a moment to truly study the rebel leader. The scars etched across his face and arms told stories of countless battles fought. His posture, straight and unwavering, radiated confidence born from years of experience. He wasn’t just a fighter—he was a survivor, someone who had endured loss but still stood strong.
“Let’s take a break,” Rhaegus said, leading Zaxius to a clearing where they set up a small fire. As the flames crackled and flickered in the cold air, Rhaegus sat beside him, his expression thoughtful.
“Have you ever asked yourself why we fight?” Rhaegus asked suddenly.
Zaxius blinked, caught off guard by the question. He hesitated, unsure how to respond. Of course he’d thought about it—but saying it aloud felt different. He didn’t want to seem ignorant or disrespectful.
Rhaegus seemed to sense his hesitation. “Look, son,” he said, his voice softening slightly, “never go into a fight without knowing why you’re there. A blade without purpose is just a tool for someone else to wield. You have to decide for yourself—are you fighting for the right reasons?”
He tossed another piece of wood onto the fire, the flames flaring briefly. “It was about ten to fifteen years ago,” Rhaegus continued. “I was part of the coalition of Winter Alphas. Twelve of us led strongholds throughout Lupa, from the deep forests to the outskirts of Blight and Calminac. We were a proud people, known for our strength and diplomacy. We had allies—the Lykari, Terranos, even the Drakari. Together, we kept the peace in the northern region of this land.”
He paused, his gaze hardening, a shadow of bitterness flickering in his eyes. “Then Xeno came. Growing up, I always heard how respected he was as a general. He fought for the land, even before his own kind. But when he became King… something changed. Greed, fear—I don’t know what it was. He turned against us. Against the very land he once bled to protect. And his flames… they took everything.”
Rhaegus looked at Zaxius, his eyes fierce but filled with something else—grief. “That’s why we fight, Zaxius. To reclaim what was lost. To ensure that you—and every cub yet to be born—have a future untouched by his tyranny.”
Zaxius listened in silence, feeling the weight of Rhaegus’ words settle over him. For the first time, he began to see the rebels not just as warriors but as people fighting for something far greater than themselves.
Later that evening, Madris, one of the Alpha council’s most prominent members—known simply as Mother to the rebels—took Zaxius aside. She led him to a quiet clearing beneath a canopy of stars, where the moonlight painted the snow in soft silver hues. The air was crisp and cold, but there was something calming about Madris’ presence, a warmth that made the chill feel distant.
They sat down on a flat, frost-covered stone, and Madris began to speak in her soft, melodic voice, weaving tales of the Wolfkin’s bond with winter and the moon.
“The Wolfkin draw strength from the moon,” she explained. “The full moon gives us power, heightens our senses, and strengthens our bond with the frost ancestors. During the new moon, when the world is cloaked in shadow, we become one with the darkness, hidden but not weakened.”
Zaxius listened quietly, his wide eyes reflecting the light of the stars above. He didn’t speak, but Madris could see the questions and uncertainty written on his face—uncertainty about who he was, about where he belonged.
“We honor the frost ancestors, who watch over us in the cold,” she continued, her voice gentle and steady. “They remind us that even in the harshest winters, there is life, warmth, and family. And family is what we are, Zaxius.”
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She paused for a moment, studying him carefully. Then, with a warm smile, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm but comforting.
“You are not just an experiment, Zaxius,” she said, her tone softening even further. “You are one of us now. Your past may be shrouded in pain, but here, you can forge a new identity.”
Zaxius lowered his gaze, staring at the snow beneath his feet. He wanted to believe her, but part of him still felt like a stranger—like an outsider who didn’t fully belong. He opened his mouth to speak, but Madris gently interrupted, her voice calm and reassuring.
“Do you know why I gave you your name?” she asked.
Zaxius blinked, startled by the question. He shook his head slowly.
Madris looked up at the sky, her expression thoughtful, as though recalling something distant and precious. “Zaxius was the name of my cub,” she said quietly. “He was strong, like you. Brave, too, even when the odds were against him. He always fought to protect those he loved.”
Her smile became tinged with sadness, but there was no bitterness in her voice—only warmth and quiet strength. “When I saw you, frightened and alone, something about you reminded me of him. You had that same fire in your eyes, that same will to keep going, even when everything around you was cold and dark.”
Zaxius felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever spoken to him like this before—with kindness, with understanding. The name he now carried wasn’t just a word—it was a gift, a legacy.
“I gave you his name not because I wanted to replace him, but because I believe you can carry it forward,” Madris continued. “You have a chance to be something more than what the King wanted you to be. You can be a warrior, yes—but more importantly, you can be part of a family. You are not alone, Zaxius.”
A quiet moment passed between them, filled only by the soft whisper of the wind through the trees. For the first time since his rescue, Zaxius felt something stir deep within him—a fragile, tentative sense of belonging. He didn’t fully understand it yet, but he felt… safe.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Madris smiled again, this time with a hint of pride. “Come,” she said, rising to her feet and offering him her hand. “It’s getting late. Tomorrow, we’ll train harder, but tonight, rest well. You are one of us now, Zaxius—and we always protect our own.”
Zaxius took her hand, standing beside her. As they walked back to the camp, he glanced up at the stars one last time, a small but genuine smile forming on his lips. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but for the first time in a long while, he felt something he thought he’d lost forever—hope.
The next few days were spent training with Lyria, who specialized in agility and stealth. She set up intricate obstacle courses through the icy terrain, challenging Zaxius to keep up with her rapid movements. Though he struggled at first, he gradually began to improve, driven by Lyria’s teasing encouragement.
“You’ve got to be faster,” she said during one session, smirking as she effortlessly leaped through the obstacles. “If you can’t outrun me, how do you expect to outrun the King’s soldiers?”
Zaxius scowled, feeling both frustrated and awed. He never imagined how tough—and wise—these people would be. Though he admired them greatly, doubt gnawed at him. Could he ever match their skill? He sat down, momentarily defeated.
Lyria noticed and walked over, hands on her hips. “Come on, Zaxius, I haven’t even transformed yet. Don’t tell me those scientist chumps protected you that hard just for you to wimp out now,” she sneered, her voice playful but challenging. Zaxius gritted his teeth, unwilling to back down from her provocation, and bolted after her.
She moved like a shadow through the first set of obstacles, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Not a single movement was wasted. Zaxius tried to mimic her precision, using what Rhaegus and Lyria had taught him, but a sharp turn sent him tumbling into the snow.
Lyria laughed, light and carefree, before jumping back to help him up. “Not bad for a beginner, but you’re overthinking it.”
“I’m not sure if I can do this, Lyria,” Zaxius admitted quietly, brushing the snow from his clothes. “You and Rhaegus are way too experienced for me. I can’t keep up.”
Lyria gave him a confused look before crouching down to his eye level, brushing off the rest of the snow from his shoulders. “What happened to that will Rhaegus told me you had, huh? Look, Zaxius, you’re trying to clear these obstacles like me and fight like Rhaegus. Sure, you can learn the basics, but do you think Rhaegus and I fight the same way?”
She smirked, nudging him lightly. “Mr. Burly over there couldn’t catch me in his wildest dreams, but I wouldn’t dare go head-to-head with him. What I’m saying is—take what we’re teaching you and make it your own. No one here expects you to act like a Wolfkin. We just want you to survive.”
She gave him a hard pat on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Alright, let’s start again. And this time—be yourself.”
Zaxius closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He opened his eyes and charged through the first obstacle. This time, instead of fighting the course, he adapted—using nearby trees as support to make sharper turns, relying on instinct instead of imitation.
Lyria watched him with growing surprise. “Oh my,” she muttered, grinning. “You’re a totally different person now… but you still can’t catch me!” She sped ahead, gliding through the obstacles with ease.
Suddenly, she felt an odd pressure pulling at her. Her steps grew heavier, as though something was weighing her down. “Wha… what’s going on?” she muttered, glancing back.
Zaxius was dashing toward her, one hand outstretched. The scar on his face glowed bright red, and faint lines of light pulsed beneath his eyes.
“Woah…” Lyria was momentarily stunned. Distracted, she didn’t see the tree branch in her path and crashed into it, falling backward into the snow with a thud. “Gah!”
Zaxius rushed over. “Are you okay?!”
Lyria blinked up at him, noticing that his scar had returned to normal. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” She let out a breathless laugh. “Didn’t expect that… Guess you are special, kid.”
Later that evening, as they made their way back to the campsite, Lyria kept sneaking glances at Zaxius, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Hey… earlier, when you were leaping through the trees like a monkey, did you feel anything different? Why’d you have your hand out like that?”
Zaxius glanced down, his expression thoughtful. “I… honestly don’t know. It was instinct. I wasn’t thinking—I just moved. It was like, with everything you and Rhaegus taught me, I was able to adapt. As for reaching out… I just wanted to catch you. I felt something burning inside me when I did. It didn’t hurt, but it was intense.”
Lyria studied him, brow furrowed. Whatever had happened, it clearly had something to do with the experiments the scientists had performed on him. “There’s definitely more to you than meets the eye, huh, kid?” she said, her tone light. They both laughed, but the moment lingered in Zaxius’ mind. He glanced up at the sky, searching for something he couldn’t quite name.
“You know…” he said quietly, “sometimes I really wish I knew why I was so special. Why I ended up in that place. In just a few days, I’ve learned so much about the Wolfkin’s heritage. I just wish I knew mine.”
Lyria’s expression softened. She sighed and turned away slightly. “I get it, Zaxius. Let me tell you a story.”
She began, her voice low but steady. “There was a young cub born to a Wolfkin mother, but her father wasn’t Wolfkin—he was from another clan. The northern clans of Zalchron used to have strong alliances. They called themselves sister clans because they shared similar beastial traits. Lions, dinosaurs, dragons… they were all part of our world. This couple—Wolfkin and Lykari—went further than diplomacy. They had a child together, knowing full well it wasn’t accepted. The Wolfkin pride themselves on their legacy. Their bloodlines. Only pure-blooded Wolfkin can access ancient rites and secrets.”
She paused, her eyes darkening. “Then Xeno happened. He didn’t attack the northern clans head-on. He used different tactics—exile for some, extermination for others. The cub’s father left to fight for his people, hoping to protect his family… but he never came back. The Alpha Council refused to shelter the mother and her child. They weren’t ‘pure’ enough.”
Zaxius listened quietly, beginning to understand the personal nature of the story.
“So the mother hid her cub in a cave near Lupa—the same cave we were in earlier. She left to draw the soldiers away. Days later, Rhaegus found the cub, barely alive. She was never truly accepted by the clan… but a group of rebels took her in. And that cub grew up to be me.”
Zaxius stared at her, empathy and respect shining in his eyes. “Lyria… I didn’t know.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not something I like talking about. But I told you this because… sometimes, life forces us to figure out who we are without the help of a clan. You’re not Wolfkin. You’re not Lykari. Honestly? I don’t know what you are. But I do know who you are. You’re Zaxius. You’ll figure the rest out as you go.”
She smiled, patting his shoulder as they reached the campsite. Moved by her words, Zaxius felt a newfound respect for Lyria. She wasn’t just a fierce warrior—she was someone fighting to define herself in a world that constantly tried to tell her who she should be.
As the days passed, tension wove itself into every breath the rebels took. Training continued, but there was an uneasiness in the air that no one could ignore.
One cold night, during a late training session, a distant howl pierced the stillness of the forest. Zaxius froze mid-step, the echo reverberating through the trees like a warning. The rebels around him stilled, their instincts sharpened by years of survival in hostile lands.
“Madris,” Rhaegus said quietly, his voice steady but cautious, “something stirs beyond the forest’s edge.”
Madris closed her eyes for a moment, her expression unreadable. When she opened them, her gaze was darker, more solemn. “A dark forewarning,” she murmured. “The King’s forces are drawing near. We must prepare.”
Despite the growing tension, that night, the rebels gathered around the fire. Shadows danced across their faces as they shared stories and laughter, warding off the fear of what lay ahead. Zaxius sat among them, listening to their tales of old battles, distant lands, and moments of hope. He felt something he hadn’t truly known before—belonging.
He glanced around the circle, at the faces of those who had taken him in. Lyria caught his eye and gave him a playful wink, while Madris offered a warm, knowing smile. Even Rhaegus, stoic as ever, seemed more at ease in the fire’s glow.
“You’re one of us now,” Rhaegus said quietly as the flames began to die down. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, met Zaxius’. “Tomorrow, we push harder. We’ll need every ounce of strength for what’s to come.”
As Zaxius lay down that night, staring at the canopy of stars above, he felt both a quiet comfort and a growing sense of urgency. The warmth of the pack surrounded him, but beyond the trees, something darker loomed. The words of Madris echoed in his mind—a dark forewarning. The King’s forces were closing in.
Tomorrow, he would push harder. He had to. For himself, for the rebels, and for a future that still felt so far out of reach.