Legacy of the Wolf

Chapter Five

The sun had begun its slow descent beyond the treetops as Mira took a moment to survey her work on the pack hall's decorations. She rubbed her aching hands, her fingertips rough and red from hours of scrubbing and setting up lanterns, wreaths of autumn leaves, and long tables set with everything the wolves could need to feast. The entire day had been filled with grueling labor, a silent reminder of her position as one of the pack's least respected members.

Yet tonight was different. She wasn't just another pack member relegated to chores. Tonight, she would use the festival as an opportunity. Alaric's dismissal, his cruel "options" for her future, had only solidified her resolve. She would gather every piece of information she could, secrets he thought were hidden, whispers that others would likely never dare to question. She knew Alaric would be occupied with their guests, and the pack would be busy with celebration, their guard down for once.

As she walked back to the Blackwoods' home to prepare for the festival, her stomach twisted in nervous anticipation. She needed to blend in perfectly, unnoticed and unremarkable, so she chose a dress of muted red and gold, the colors of the season, but simple enough to avoid attention. She brushed her hair carefully and tied it back, checking her reflection in the mirror one last time, pressing her lips together to steel herself.

"Keep it together, Mira," she whispered to herself, steadying her breathing as she felt the familiar surge of anxiety. Tonight wasn't just a social event; it was her only chance to uncover the truth of what happened to her parents, and that thought drove her forward.

The path to the festival grounds was lined with hanging lanterns, each flame flickering and dancing in the cool autumn breeze. She took her time, slipping into the crowd with careful steps, blending into the sea of familiar faces. Most of the pack members didn't acknowledge her, but she was accustomed to that by now. They saw her as the outsider who had failed her trials, the girl who couldn't shift. Her place in the pack was lowly, almost invisible. And tonight, that invisibility would be her greatest asset.

Music filled the air, accompanied by the scent of roasted meats, cinnamon-spiced desserts, and freshly baked breads. A fire pit crackled nearby, casting a warm glow over the festival, and young wolves chased each other around the edges of the gathering, their laughter echoing through the trees. As she walked among them, Mira's gaze swept the gathering, searching for familiar faces among the elders and warriors, each of them potentially harboring memories of her family's past.

Near one corner of the clearing, she spotted the eldest pack members gathered together. They sat in clusters, their gray heads close together as they spoke in low tones, reminiscing about the old days, their voices a blend of fondness and nostalgia. Mira edged closer, close enough to catch fragments of conversation, her ears straining to capture every word.

"You remember the last time we faced rogues this fierce?" one elder murmured, his voice gravelly with age. "Back when Alaric first took the title... cleaned out those who opposed him, too, didn't he?"

"Always had a ruthless streak," another elder replied. "He never left any threats alive, and he doesn't tolerate dissent. Cleansed the ranks for strength, he said."

Mira felt her pulse quicken. *Cleansed the ranks.* Her parents had been deemed a threat, hadn't they? A danger to his power. And Alaric had ensured they didn't live long enough to be one.

She moved quietly around the edge of the crowd, her steps calculated, careful. The more she listened, the more she realized just how deeply Alaric's grip ran within the pack. He'd spent years eliminating threats, keeping everyone in line with subtle manipulation or outright threats. She wondered how many others had been cast aside, written off as if they were nothing more than names in a forgotten book.

Nearby, a group of warriors discussed past battles and rival packs. Mira lingered close, eavesdropping, her heartbeat steady as she absorbed their words.

"I remember Oran Sterling—strong as any Alpha I've known," a warrior said, his voice laced with regret. "Pity he got caught up in that business with Alaric. Could have made a fine leader if things had been different."

"Would have been trouble for Alaric, that's for sure," another added. "Luna Lyra, too—had a way of rallying people behind her."

Mira's chest tightened as she heard them speak her parents' names, voices low as if they were forbidden to mention them openly. It was the first time she had heard anyone acknowledge her parents since she was a child. Her heart pounded with a mix of pride and fury. Her parents had been loved, respected, maybe even admired. They hadn't been weak; they had posed a threat to Alaric, and he had taken them from her to secure his own power.

She had what she needed now—a clearer picture of the past, though fragments still eluded her. She had enough to know that her parents had been silenced, sacrificed in Alaric's ambition.

The night deepened, and Mira knew it was time to act on the second part of her plan. She had to find physical evidence, something undeniable to prove Alaric's guilt. It was a long shot, but she knew there might be records or documents that could shed light on her parents' deaths. And she knew exactly where they might be—inside the pack's archives, hidden away from anyone who might dare to question the Alpha's word.

Mira slipped away from the main gathering, her footsteps light as she made her way toward the archive room in the main pack house. The hallways were quiet, most pack members still at the festival, the shadows stretching long across the floor as she slipped down the corridor to the small, seldom-used room. Her hand hovered over the handle, heart pounding as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was filled with the scent of old parchment and ink, shelves lined with heavy, leather-bound books and brittle paper records. A lantern flickered in the corner, casting a dim glow that seemed to seep into every corner of the room. Mira quickly scanned the shelves, her fingers brushing over worn spines as she searched for anything bearing her family's name.

She found the book she needed after a few tense minutes, a thick volume labeled *Family Histories.* She opened it, her hands shaking as she flipped through its yellowed pages, her eyes scanning the words with feverish intensity. Her breath caught as she found what she was looking for—her parents' names, "Oran Sterling, Alpha," and "Lyra Sterling, Luna," written in elegant script. But just below their names, all that was written was a single word: *deceased.*

No details, no accounts of their deaths, just a sterile declaration that told nothing of the truth.

Her heart sank, and her grip tightened on the book's edge. Alaric had deliberately erased them, silenced their memory, reduced them to a mere mention without story or legacy. Her hands shook as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The evidence here was sparse, but she knew it was only the beginning. If Alaric had truly "cleansed" the ranks, there had to be more documentation somewhere. She couldn't give up yet.

Lost in her thoughts, Mira didn't hear the footsteps approaching until they were nearly upon her.

The door swung open, and she spun around, heart racing as the light from the hallway flooded into the room. She was caught, frozen in place, her mind reeling as she realized she'd left herself no escape.