alma inquebrantable

The Lamenta Forest stretched out beneath the ghostly moonlight, its dark peaks forming an impenetrable wall around the Keibster pack. Mist crept between the gnarled trunks, giving the shadows the illusion of breathing, alive, moving.

Amidst the darkness, eyes pierced the gloom. Golden pupils, burning with a cruel glow typical of natural-born hunters. The young wolves crouched on the damp ground, muscles tense beneath their tawny or silver fur, ready to pounce at the slightest signal.

But Alma was different.

His coat, silvery white mixed with ethereal hues, seemed to capture fragments of night light, strange and unreal amidst the dark wolves of the pack. The moon slid across his flanks like a silent benediction, a radiance no other Keibster possessed. A singularity that disturbed as much as it fascinated.

She should have been focused. She should have melted into the night, spying on the human prey advancing a few meters away, oblivious to the danger that awaited her.

But Alma raised her head.

Up above, a moth fluttered among the leaves, its slender wings edged with a blue glow. It danced in the fresh air, defying the darkness of the forest, free and carefree. Its flight was an ode to fragile beauty, a gentleness that contrasted with the brutality of the predators lurking in the shadows.

The other young wolves, however, were completely focused on their mission. A powerful howl pierced the silence, the signal from the chief hunter: the attack was launched.

But Alma didn't move.

Instead of preparing to pounce, she snorted, a light, amused breath, incongruous in this context of stalking and blood.

Kaelen, the hunter overseeing their training, didn't miss a beat. He called the pack to him. He stood up slowly, breaking from his perfect stillness to approach her with fluid steps. His dark brown fur rippled beneath his powerful muscles, and his eyes, a piercing amber, bore into her with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

He had never understood Alma.

Where the pack found its balance in obedience and predation, it seemed to be constantly drifting, fascinated by the useless, by the fragile aesthetics of the world, by this gentleness that they despised.

His deep voice echoed, full of reproach:

"You are the destined Luna of the pack, Alma. You should focus on your mission... instead of dreaming about the insects that inhabit the night."

Alma held his gaze for a moment, caught between shame and the silent rebellion burning in her heart. A shiver ran down her spine. Kaelen was right: she was his future Luna, destined for power, shaped to be ruthless.

So why did this simple butterfly inspire more fascination in him than hunting?

A whisper in her mind told her that perhaps she wasn't cut out to rule as others hoped. But what was she then, if she couldn't be an accomplished Keibster?

Alma bowed her head in apology and retreated into the oppressive darkness.