CHAPTER TEN: The Forgotten Alpha
The silence in the tower's lower chamber was suffocating.
Not because it was dark or cold—though it was both—but because what lay before them shattered the ground beneath Riven's identity.
Her father… the man she thought dead… was alive.
Or at least, he had been.
---
The hidden room was more of a tomb than a sanctuary.
Thick chains bolted into the walls hummed with binding runes, now dormant. The air was stale, untouched for years. In the center sat a lone stone chair—and on it, the skeletal remains of a man who had clearly once been powerful.
Tattered remnants of a crest clung to his chest. Not the emblem of the Royal Pack, but something older… something forbidden.
A faded sigil: the Black Fang.
Kael's eyes widened.
"Impossible… that mark was erased after the Crimson War."
Nysha stood in the doorway, her voice low.
"That's because he was the last of his kind. The last Alpha of the Forgotten Bloodline. The one who disobeyed the Council… and paid the price."
---
Riven stepped closer, her heart thundering.
Memories of her childhood came rushing back—half-forgotten images: the gentle touch of calloused fingers, lullabies in a deep, gravelly voice, eyes full of both sadness and fire.
She whispered, "This is him?"
Nysha nodded.
"Your father was once known as Theron Blackfang. He commanded not just a pack—but an ideology. He believed that the Gate wasn't something to be sealed, but to be understood. He believed the old powers—what we now call curses—were part of our destiny, not something to be feared."
She gestured toward Riven.
"And it seems, in death, he passed that belief… into you."
---
Fynn looked away, tension knotting his jaw.
Riven turned, fire building in her eyes.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Kael answered before Nysha could.
"Because he was labeled a traitor."
Riven froze.
"What?"
"He betrayed the High Council. Tried to open the Gate himself. Thousands died. Entire packs were slaughtered. And when they finally caught him, they erased his name from history to protect your mother and you."
Riven shook her head, taking a step back. "No. That can't be true."
Kael's voice was steady, but not cruel.
"He didn't die in battle. He was buried here. In silence. A warning to others."
---
Fynn finally spoke.
"What if he was right?"
Kael's glare snapped to him. "Don't start."
"I'm serious," Fynn said. "What if the Council's the real problem? What if they've been feeding us lies to keep themselves in power?"
Nysha raised an eyebrow. "Careful, boy. That's the same fire that got Theron killed."
Fynn didn't flinch. "Then maybe we've been asking the wrong questions."
---
Riven's hands trembled as she touched the cold bones.
Her fingers brushed against a locket hidden beneath the tattered cloth. Inside was a lock of dark hair… and a piece of parchment.
She opened it.
The words were faded but legible:
"If you're reading this, then you've awakened. You are stronger than they feared, and more vital than they know. Don't trust the wolves in gold. Trust only the blood that burns."
Signed: T.B.
The initials struck her like a blade.
He had planned for this. He had known.
---
That night, they buried what was left of Theron beneath the tower, away from the others who would have left him in chains.
No prayers were said. Only silence.
When they returned to camp, the air was different.
Tense.
Fynn was staring into the fire, silent.
Kael stood near the map, marking their next path.
Nysha remained in the tower, choosing not to follow.
Riven, however, couldn't sit still.
Something inside her had shifted. A new layer of grief. Of anger. Of purpose.
---
Later, Fynn approached her.
"I know this hurts," he said. "But I think it was meant to."
She glanced at him. "You think everything is fate."
"No. I think fate gives you pain so you learn to wield it."
Riven looked away. "He wasn't a traitor."
"Maybe not. But he played the traitor to protect you."
Fynn knelt beside her.
"Which means… whatever's coming? He thought you were strong enough to face it."
---
The next morning, Kael handed her a blade.
"This belonged to Theron," he said. "It's a cursed relic. Bound to his bloodline."
The hilt was black steel, etched with runes that shimmered in crimson.
Riven took it. It hummed in her grip like it recognized her.
Kael met her eyes. "Use it wisely."
Fynn leaned in. "So… what now?"
Riven stood, lifting the blade.
"We find the rest of the Seals."
Kael blinked. "You want to open the Gate?"
"No," she said. "I want to understand it. If the Council lied about my father, what else have they buried?"
Kael hesitated… then nodded.
"We'll need allies. The Pack of Echoes, maybe even the Seers in the East."
"Then we start there," Riven said.
---
That night, as the three prepared to leave Duskmere, Riven lingered at the edge of the woods.
She could feel something watching her.
Not a beast.
Not the Council.
Something older.
In the trees, in the shadows, a figure stood cloaked in smoke.
Its voice echoed without sound:
"Blood will burn, Harbinger. But whose?"
And then it vanished.
---