The Ultama

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Legend of Ultama

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In the ancient times, long before the rise of great kingdoms and towering cities, the world was wild, untamed, and ruled by primal forces. In the heart of this wilderness roamed Ultama, the first of the wolf-bloods-a creature neither fully human nor fully beast. Ultama was born under a blood moon, his destiny foretold in the stars that burned bright above his cradle. His eyes gleamed with the fire of a thousand suns, and his gaze alone was said to be capable of turning a mortal into a wolf-blood like himself, cursed to walk the land half-man, half-beast.

But Ultama's gift was not easily wielded. Though he possessed unimaginable strength and immortality, his power consumed him. Rage and bloodlust would take hold, and he became a storm of fury, uncontrollable, destroying everything in his path. Trees fell, rivers turned red with the blood of those who crossed his wrath. No force in nature or magic could contain him-until his family forged the Necklace of Chains, a pendant enchanted by the ancestors to tether Ultama's power, allowing him to live among men and wolves alike, but never fully belonging to either world.

For centuries, the Ultama bloodline passed through the ages, carried by the firstborn of every generation, each inheriting the same terrible power and the weight of responsibility that came with it. The wolf-bloods grew in number, some worshipping Ultama as a god, others cursing his name for the curse he bestowed upon their kin. Wars raged, alliances were formed and broken, and through it all, Ultama's power remained a force both feared and revered.

Yet, it was said that Ultama could never truly die. His body, though subject to wounds and injury, would regenerate with supernatural speed. His blood, when spilled, would cause the earth to rise up in defense, plants springing to life to protect their creator. Legends whispered that only by severing his head could Ultama be killed, but his neck was invulnerable to any weapon forged by man or magic. Ultama was eternal, a living embodiment of the wild's untamable spirit.
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The night was deep and quiet, the moon casting a soft, silvery glow over the clearing where Rin and her father sat by the fire. The flames flickered and danced, throwing shadows across the trees that loomed around them. Little, 12 year old Rin sat with her legs pulled up, arms wrapped around her knees. She stared into the fire, her golden eyes reflecting the flames, lost in thought.

Akhella sat across from her, sharpening his knife, the rhythmic sound of steel against stone a steady backdrop to the stillness of the night. He glanced up, sensing his daughter's unease. He knew this look well-it was the same one he had worn years ago, before the weight of his own choices had fully settled on his shoulders.

After a long silence, Rin finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Dad... what if I can't control it? The power inside me... it's growing. I can feel it, and sometimes, it scares me."

Akhella stopped sharpening his blade, resting it on his lap as he leaned forward, his green eyes soft but serious. "You're stronger than you think, Rin. Stronger than I ever was at your age."

Rin looked up, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "I don't feel strong. I feel... like something is waiting inside me. Something I don't understand."

Akhella stood slowly, moving to sit beside her, his large frame casting a shadow over her small form. His presence was a wall of quiet strength, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in the low, rough voice that always carried more than just words, Akhella began to speak.

"I know what you're feeling. I've felt it too. That power, that pull-it's in our blood, Rin. But it doesn't define us. What defines us is how we choose to use it."