Exiting the kitchen, the lingering aroma of the hastily devoured meal lingered ominously. Marisol’s children efficiently cleared the table, an unspoken tension shadowing their expressions. Nia, trailing behind, keenly observed their every move.

Entering the living room, the atmosphere transformed. The low murmur of the television blended with the muffled cacophony beyond the apartment walls. News reports became a constant, haunting white noise, weaving urgent whispers of a world plummeting into chaos.

Marisol sank into the worn-out couch, her face etched with concern. Her children, finding spots on the floor and mismatched chairs, arranged themselves in a semi-circle. Nia, attuned to familial dynamics, sensed the unspoken bonds weaving between them.

The television screen flickered with ghastly images of feral werewolves, streets in disarray, with reporters grappling to convey the magnitude of the crisis. The subdued volume accentuated the gravity of the situation, the hushed voices of reporters debating the nature of the attacks, the government’s response, and the sheer disbelief that mythical creatures could be a tangible threat.

The living room, adorned with frozen family moments and fragments of abruptly interrupted lives, turned into a sanctuary where they sought refuge in each other’s presence. Without words, Marisol gestured toward a folded blanket at the corner of the couch.

News reports unleashed a cacophony of perspectives — some challenging the authenticity of the attacks, dismissing them as hoaxes or government overreach. Others delved into the mythological abyss, entertaining the unfathomable idea that creatures like werewolves existed. Debates raged over the adequacy of government responses, military involvement, and the apparent political impasse. The magnitude and brutality of the attacks overwhelmed law enforcement and emergency services. A limited military, hampered by personnel shortages and political gridlock, struggled to mobilize. Regardless of the channel, news outlets spiraled into a frenzy, saturated with speculation, fear, and sensationalism.

The youngest son flicked through his phone as social media channels spewed a torrent of information, rumors, and panic. His eyes darted across app after app as society unraveled. Declarations of state of emergency and martial law echoed from dozens of locations.

“Looks like they don’t want to disclose the full extent of the situation from the Call. The ferals will wreak more havoc than mass hysteria,” Sofia remarked, curling her legs under herself. “Humans, with their fear and distrust, seem to rise.”

“Proof that my uncle spoke the truth at the Call.” Nia’s eyes darkened as the television flickered.

Sofia turned towards Nia, “Why? Why do you say that?”

Marisol used her fingernails to tap her bicep. All four of Marisol’s children flexed their biceps, each sporting a stylized owl with piercing eyes.

“Cuando eran cachorros, mi pareja fue asesinada. No quería que murieran. Elegí dejarlos seguir el camino de Shinsei en lugar de deslizarse a la tumba como su padre. (When they were pups, my mate was killed. I didn’t want them to die. I chose to let them follow the path of Shinsei rather than slide into the grave like their father.)”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“All death is noble,” Nia said.

“No a costa de sus hijos. Lo intenté mantenerlos alejados del Llamado. (Not at the cost of your children. I tried to keep them away from the Call.)” Her body language spoke louder than her words. A parent should never outlive their children.

“Yet, The Wolf called you. Called all of us. He selected you to stand with the six royals when it comes time. This is for a greater purpose, to fight when the world of men wakes from its slumber.”

Marisol seemed a little annoyed. In a condescending tone, she replied, “Princesa. (Princess)”

Marisol affirmed their commitment, but disclosed that her cubs had a different role to play, and she would fiercely protect them at any cost. “No tienes cachorros. Espero que algún día lo hagas. Entonces verás que un padre nunca debe sobrevivir a sus hijos. Les dejo tener una vida mejor. Tu familia me eligió para anunciar nuestra existencia. Soy obediente. Pero cuando se trata de mis cachorros, me importa una mierda lo que él o tu familia quieran. Son míos. (You don’t have cubs. I hope one day you do. Then you will understand that a parent should never outlive their children. I let them have a better life. Your family chose me to announce our existence. I am obedient. But when it comes to my pups, I don’t give a shit what he or your family wants. They are mine.)”

“I understand. But are you –”

“Lo haremos. Voy a. Su tarea es diferente. (We will. I will. Their task is different.)”

“Do they know where she is?”

“Serían malos estudiantes si no supieran dónde está el maestro. (They’d be poor students if they didn’t know where the teacher was.)”

As they turned their attention to the broadcasts, the room pulsated with determination and sacrifice. Marisol’s love and protectiveness for her cubs drove her actions, even in the face of a greater mission. Nia, now aware of the complexities at play, braced herself for the impending challenges in this mysterious world.

The four children enigmatically smiled.

On the rooftop, Marisol’s cubs, four imposing werewolves, unleashed a spine-tingling howl that reverberated through the night, echoing for miles. The intensity of their united cry was matched only by the eerie calmness that enveloped them despite their menacing muzzles, brimming with razor-sharp teeth designed for destruction. As they howled, their spirits intertwined, forming an unbreakable bond deeper than mere family ties, a connection that surpassed the limits of bloodline.

The haunting chorus of their full-throat howling seemed to stretch time itself, a relentless symphony of raw power and untamed savagery. The air around them crackled with electrifying energy, and the chilling effect of their howl was palpable, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it. The sight of these predators standing motionless, their primal instincts honed to perfection, exuded a fearsome aura, leaving no doubt that they were the deadliest, most powerful, and malevolent lifeforms ever sculpted by the unforgiving hands of evolution.

In this crucial moment, the werewolves awaited Nia and Marisol’s command, their eyes locked onto them with an intensity that spoke of unwavering loyalty and obedience. The weight of their purpose and destiny hung heavy in the air, and the world seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the next move of these formidable beings, a force to reckon with in the dark realms of nightfall.

“Vamos.(Let’s go,)” Marisol said.

“Okay,” Nia replied, addressing the werewolves, “Thank you. Your service will not be forgotten.” She went to Sofia, locked eyes with her, and let her sniff her hand as the deadly shapeshifter canine she was. “Thank you for the water.”

Nia left the roof, and Marisol waited, watching her children transform back. Although it didn’t appear as painful, she noticed the taut muscles and grimaces they tried to hide. After they completed the change, she spoke in a motherly voice. “¿Algún otro secreto que quieras compartir? (Any other secrets you want to share?)” Marisol asked. The four smiled, each in their own way saying no. “No me gustan los secretos. (I don’t like secrets)” Marisol paused. “I’m still your momma.” Her eyes were intense as she looked at her children. She was left torn between duty and family.

Marisol followed Nia down the stairs, who told her they had a small stop on the way and would catch up with them later.

The rest sauntered back to their shared apartment.