chapter seven: tragic whispers

The morning after the full moon ceremony, the Umbra pack stirred with restless energy. Life in the territory resumed—wolves trained, markets buzzed with activity, and children played in the open clearings—but an undercurrent of tension lingered. Everywhere Aria walked, she felt the weight of their eyes and the pull of their whispers.

In the marketplace, the air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh herbs, cured meats, and the earthy tang of wolf fur. Merchants called out their wares, but their voices carried a strained edge, their attention frequently flickering toward clusters of wolves engaged in hushed conversations.

“I can’t believe Orion defied the council like that,” muttered one merchant as she arranged a row of clay jars.

A customer leaned in, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were unheard. “He’s putting the entire pack at risk. If Aria isn’t of pure blood, how can she defend us? How can we trust her to lead?”

“Do you think Loki was right?” A younger wolf asked as she handed over a bundle of dried roots. “About her being unfit?”

The merchant hesitated, her gaze darting toward the training grounds where a group of warriors sparred. “Loki might be harsh, but... I don’t know. Maybe he has a point.”

At the training grounds, the pack’s warriors practiced with renewed vigor, their claws slicing through the air in rhythmic swipes. Yet even their focused movements couldn’t mask the buzz of conversation among them.

“She’s strong, I’ll give her that,” one warrior said, wiping sweat from his brow after a bout. “But strength isn’t the only thing that makes a leader.”

Another warrior, a tall woman with a scar running down her left arm, scoffed. “You think Loki’s pure bloodline argument holds water? Leadership isn’t about blood. It’s about action.”

“And what about tradition?” A third voice cut in, the speaker’s tone laced with frustration. “We’ve followed the same customs for generations. If we throw those away, what’s next? Chaos?”

The tall woman crossed her arms. “Tradition didn’t stop Aria from holding her ground when Loki challenged her. Maybe that’s the kind of leadership we need—someone who can adapt, not just cling to the past.”

Their debate intensified, voices rising as others joined in. Some argued passionately in Aria’s favor, recalling her loyalty and courage. Others stood firmly with Loki, their distrust fueled by fear of change.

In the dens where families gathered, the atmosphere was no less charged. Mothers prepared meals while fathers recounted the events of the previous night, their words heavy with opinion.

“I heard Orion challenged anyone to face Aria in combat,” a gray-haired elder said, his voice carrying the weight of years. “Not a single wolf dared to step forward.”

“Because they respect him, not her,” another elder countered, her tone sharp. “Aria only holds power because Orion wills it. The moment he’s gone, she’ll face open rebellion.”

A young pup looked up from his spot by the fire, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Mama, do you think Aria will be a good alpha?”

His mother paused, her hands stilling as she kneaded dough. “I don’t know, little one. But she’s brave, and sometimes, that’s enough to make a difference.”

The pup nodded, though the uncertainty in his mother’s voice lingered in the air like an unspoken truth.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the territory, Maliya walked through the central clearing with a forced smile, greeting pack members with an air of grace. Inside, however, her thoughts churned.

She had spent the morning listening, her sharp ears picking up every whisper, every doubt cast on Aria’s claim. Though she kept her anger hidden, it simmered just below the surface, each word against her sister fueling her silent rage.

As she passed a group of young wolves discussing the ceremony, she couldn’t resist pausing to interject.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Maliya said, her voice smooth and measured. “Aria has faced challenges none of us can imagine. She’s earned her place.”

The young wolves exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure how to respond. Maliya smiled sweetly and continued on her way, satisfied that she had planted a seed of doubt about their doubt.

By midday, the whispers had reached even the farthest corners of the territory. Loki, seated in the council chamber, listened as a group of elders voiced their concerns.

“Orion’s decision has shaken the pack,” one elder said, her brow furrowed. “We need stability, and this... this defiance of tradition threatens that.”

Loki leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “Orion’s stubbornness will be his downfall. The pack sees it now. Give it time, and they’ll see Aria for what she truly is—an unfit leader.”

“And if they don’t?” Another elder asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

A sly smile curved Loki’s lips. “They will. Doubt is a powerful weapon. We just need to wield it wisely.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, Aria stood on the balcony of her chambers, overlooking the territory. She could hear the whispers even now, carried on the wind like a haunting melody.

Her chest tightened, the weight of her father’s decision pressing down on her shoulders. He had stood by her, defied the council for her, yet it seemed the pack’s faith in her was slipping through her fingers.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil.

Orion entered, his presence filling the room. He studied her for a moment before speaking. “They’re restless,” he said simply.

“I know,” Aria replied, her gaze fixed on the sky. “They don’t trust me.”

“They will, in time,” Orion said, his voice firm. “But trust isn’t given—it’s earned. You’ve already begun to prove yourself, but the road ahead won’t be easy.”

Aria turned to face him, her eyes burning with determination. “I won’t let you down, Father.”

Orion placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “You’ve never let me down, Aria. Remember that.”