Have you ever heard the true domination of absolute darkness and nightfall? It sounds of nothing. The same way sleeping is soundless, and the depths of the ocean are silent.
Most nights in the Sierra are this. Quiet. Cold. Dark.
Not tonight. Tonight is Noctis Dominatio. Domination of the night.
It's the coldest night of the year. The air brisk with subzero temperatures. There's no wind. No barreling snow. Just cold darkness that's enveloping the Sierra.
It started silent, as the night typically does. Hours passed by, before the drums started to sound.
The drums haven't stopped beating the entire night. They sound rhythmically as if trying to replicate the heart of the mountains. Dum-Dum. Dum-Dum.
The Sierran pack watches idly from the sides of the peaks. Some on the base of the mountain, others higher to get a better view. They call this the Holm—the place of duels. More importantly, the place where blood spills.
Blood is power in these lands. To drain it, to take it, to be part of a bloodline—it all has meaning here.
Even under the moonlight, the bright red color of blood is streaking against the pristinely white snow. All eyes follow the drops that turn into lengths, until finally, the blood leads to a pool where the bodies lay.
One body has been pushed to the side. The other rests beside the young Fenmont boy. At a fresh sixteen years old, he sits with his hands elegantly placed on his thighs. Even in the abundant cold, he doesn't move amongst the dark red. Bearing no shirt. His entire body laced with injuries, but not once does he show his pain.
He won't leave the body. Even once the dead has lost its warmth, he couldn't leave it there. He'd stay beside it until he can move to carry it away.
The Sierrans wait there with him. If another wishes to challenge the Fenmont boy, this is their moment and their right. But he must wait...all night. Until the sun rises over the longest winter night. Only then, can he truly claim what is his.
He sits there with his eyes closed as he breathes through the cold. Every exhale is a white cloud in the air.
His screams. His pain. The cries he released. It was all laid to bare not an hour ago. And now he is collected and poised.
Hours pass by. None of the Sierrans dare to move. There will only be a few hours of sunlight now that it's the depths of winter.
Finally, the lightest bit of sun streams through the peaks of the mountains.
The Sierrans all start to howl. The drumming gets louder and louder.
The men. The women. The children. All of them slam their fists to their chests to the sound of the drums. Those who are in their wolf forms howl and snarl. Snapping their jaws and clawing at the frozen ground as the power from the mountain seeps into them.
The sounds slowly get louder and louder. Echoing through the mountains as the sun barely stretches through the snow. Revealing the true extent of the darkness the night led to.
Tears stream down Liv Fenmont's face. Even carrying her young boy—Montgomery—she pounds her fist to her chest. Her chin held high for her oldest son.
Bianca stands a few feet away. The first to step towards her brother. Her footsteps drowned out by the noise.
Louder. Louder. Louder.
A final howl echoes through the air just as the first streams of sunlight touch Alexander Fenmont. Gleaming through his now dirty hair and glistening off his pale skin. Giving him the first touch of warmth, he's had in hours.
Everything stops. The only sound is the cold. Because even the shadows, the intangible, and the deserted have sound in the Sierra.
"Alex." Bianca calls out to her brother. Her footstep crunching over the snow. He doesn't move.
Someone might confuse him as a statue. An angelic sculpture that is waiting to be called. Hauntingly beautiful the way Lucifer himself is an angel but with a tortured and dark soul.
Bianca hesitates. Her voice cracking as she speaks to her younger brother, "Alexander."
Still no response.
Bianca swallows her pride. Her bottom lip quivering as she straightens her back. Her gaze hollowing as a stray tear rolls down her face.
Her voice suddenly chill and emotionless. "Alpha."
Alexander begins to tremble. No one knows of what. Rage, cold, sadness. They just see his body shake. His eyes finally open. The sharp blue dilating and piercing even to the farthest wolves who are keeping their distance. They grow in intensity until his irises turn as white as fresh snow.
The sun barely touches his face. Showcasing the dried blood across him. The moment that light encapsulates his entire body, it all floods him.
The responsibility, the power, the aura. Alexander's wolf latches onto that power. Absorbing it like a sponge and Alex lets him. This is his Ascension. This is who he is now. This is who he'll be.
We will lead. His wolf sounds like a whisper. A ghost. Something eerie and incorporeal.
Yes. Alexander agrees with him.
We will harm those... His wolf says.
Who harm us. Alexander finishes for him.
His wolf growls. Blót kallar blót.
Alexander raises his chin, Blood calls for blood.
Alexander's breathing becomes rugged as he takes it in. He throws his head back—a soul shattering scream comes out of him. Hoarse and animalistic.
He takes in a breath. Screaming again. This time—a sign of power. He wants it to ricochet off the mountains and travel across the land that's now his.
His yells bring the pack closer. They walk towards him, stopping just a few feet behind Bianca. Growls rumbling from throats and eyes darkening over.
Alexander slowly rises to his feet. The aura that now belongs to him rolls off his body in cold, icy waves.
He takes a step, and everyone submits.
He rises to his knees, and everyone bows.
He stands straight. Proudly showing his new injuries that will become scars.
His fists stay at his side. Without a single word spoken, he lets out a growl that pierces through the Sierrans.
They all fall to their knees. Alexander takes one step, his chin high. His aura colder than the air around them. Sending chills into the spines of every pack member.
"Skol Alpha Alexander." One Sierran man shouts.
"Skol." Everyone shouts. The drum hits. Another chorus. "Skol."
From the top of the mountain edges where the shadows lie. The Hela's bow. "Skol, Alpha."
The new Alpha howls into the sky—affirming his new position. The howls of his people follow. Just as they'll follow him. Follow him to the depths of death if they must. He has claimed his place into the frozen heart of the Sierra.
***
A/N: First impressions/thoughts ;) Please comment <3
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The Alpha's Sierra
Werewolf"I'm going to erase and replace that man-every man-from your mind," Alexander's grip on me tightens. A snarl escaping his lips to remind me exactly what he is. "By the time we're through, I'll be so deeply embedded in you, you'll ask yourself whethe...
