The silent howl of Azul. The True Alpha

Introduction: The Birth of Azul

I have been told that the night I was born, the moon hid behind dark clouds. The stars refused to shine, and the wind carried a scent of blood and fear. Maybe that was a warning. Maybe the world already knew what my life would become—a life full of darkness, pain, and silent tears.

I was born different. A pure white wolf, something rare, something whispered about in old stories. They said a wolf like me carried a blessing and a curse, that the Moon Goddess herself marked me for a destiny too heavy for such small paws. I didn’t know any of this then. I was just a newborn pup, crying softly in the arms of my mother, safe and warm… for the last time.

My mother’s name was Lyria. My father was Kaelen. They were warriors, proud and strong, the kind of wolves who never bowed to anyone. But that night, their strength wasn’t enough. Rogues came for them. A pack of bloodthirsty, wild wolves with no loyalty, no mercy. They wanted me. I still don’t know why. Maybe they feared the prophecy. Maybe they wanted to kill me before I could become what they thought I would be. Or maybe… they just wanted blood.

I don’t remember the screams, the clash of teeth and claws, but I have heard the story too many times in whispers. My parents fought until the end. My father killed five of them before they tore him apart. My mother ran with me in her arms, her fur soaked in blood, her breath ragged and desperate. She hid me under the roots of an old tree, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “Live, my little moonlight. Live, even if it hurts.”

Those were her last words.

The rogues found her. They tore her apart right in front of the tree where I hid, too small, too helpless to do anything but cry. When the moon came out again, silver and cold, the earth was painted red.

And then… silence. Only the sound of the wind, and the tiny heartbeat of a child who should have died that night but didn’t.

When I opened my eyes days later, I wasn’t in the forest anymore. I was inside a strange house, wrapped in an old blanket that smelled of dust and something sour. A woman looked down at me, her eyes sharp like knives. Her name was Serah. She was the one who “saved” me. At least, that’s what she told everyone. The truth? She didn’t save me out of kindness. She saved me because I was rare. Because a white wolf was something valuable to keep under her claws.

Serah had a mate, a man named Garren. Together, they became my “parents,” though they never treated me like a daughter. They had a real daughter of their own, Elara. Beautiful, cruel Elara. She was the perfect child in everyone’s eyes—golden fur, bright smile, sweet words when people were watching. But when the doors closed, her sweetness turned to poison.

I was nothing compared to her. I was the shadow in her light, the servant in her story. They raised me in their house, yes, but not as family. I was the extra mouth to feed, the mistake they tolerated because they had to. They reminded me of that every single day.

“You’re lucky we even keep you here,” Serah would say, shoving a broom in my hands before I could even speak a word. “Your parents were rogues. Trash. Don’t think you’re better than us just because you’re pale.”

I learned early that silence was my shield. When I was five, I stopped talking. Not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t want to give them more reasons to hurt me. When you don’t speak, people forget you’re there. They stop asking questions. They stop looking at you. And sometimes, being invisible is safer than being seen.

So I became the mute girl. The weak one. The one who cleaned floors and cooked meals and carried heavy baskets from the market while Elara laughed with her friends and wore pretty dresses. The one who worked at night after school, scrubbing tables in a coffee shop just to earn a few coins, because Serah said I needed to pay for my own food if I wanted to eat.

“You want to eat? Work for it,” she said with a smirk, tossing me a rag like I was some kind of dog.

And I did. I worked. At home. At school. At the shop. I worked until my hands bled and my legs ached so much I thought they would break. I worked because I didn’t want to die like my parents. I worked because if I kept moving, if I kept breathing, maybe… maybe there was a reason I survived that night.

But every time I looked at the moon, I wondered if my mother had been wrong. Maybe living wasn’t a blessing. Maybe it was the curse.

People feared me. Not because they knew who I really was, but because I was different. Pale skin, silver eyes, and hair as white as snow. In a world of dark wolves, I was a ghost. A strange, silent creature. They called me “mute” like it was my name. They whispered when I passed by. Some pitied me. Most laughed.

And I stayed quiet. Always quiet. Because words start fights, and fights start wars, and I didn’t want more blood on my hands.

But no matter how small I tried to make myself, life never stopped testing me. It never stopped hurting me. And it never stopped reminding me that I didn’t belong here, not anywhere.

I remember the first time I heard about him. The Crown Alpha. The future ruler of all packs. His name was whispered with awe and fear, like he was a god among wolves. Dominant. Powerful. Untouchable. And soon, he would take the throne. There was going to be a coronation. A night of music and wine and celebration, where the strongest would rise, and the rest of us… would just watch.

I thought that night had nothing to do with me. I was wrong. So very wrong.

Because that night would change everything. That night would shatter the silence I had built around myself. That night… would make me his.

But before I tell you about him, about the Alpha who turned my world upside down you need to understand who I was before him. You need to understand the pain, the chains, the darkness. You need to understand why I ran. Why I stayed silent. Why I fought so hard to survive.

Because this is not a fairy tale. This is not a sweet love story that begins with a kiss and ends with a happy ever after.

This is the story of a girl who was born under blood and prophecy. A girl who learned that the world is cruel, that love is dangerous, and that sometimes, even silence can scream louder than words.

My name is Azul. And this… is my story.

Chains of Silence

The day starts before the sun even rises.

My eyes open to darkness, and for a moment, I pretend I’m somewhere else. Somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. But then reality crashes down like it always does, the cold floor beneath me, the faint smell of mold in the corner, the sound of someone banging on the door.

“Azul! Get up, you lazy mute!” It’s Serah’s voice, sharp as a whip. “You think the house will clean itself?”

I don’t answer. I never do. I pull myself up from the thin mat I call a bed, my body stiff from sleeping on the hard floor. My muscles ache from yesterday, but it doesn’t matter. Pain doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except doing what they want… so they won’t hurt me more than they already do.

I dress quickly in the same old clothes, an oversized shirt with holes at the hem and faded black pants that barely reach my ankles. My shoes are worn out, the soles so thin I feel every crack in the ground when I walk. I tie my white hair into a messy braid so it doesn’t get in my way, then open the door to face another day in chains.

Serah is waiting in the hallway, arms crossed, lips twisted in disgust. Elara stands beside her, perfect as always, in a soft pink robe that probably costs more than everything I own. Her golden hair cascades over her shoulders like a river of sunlight. She looks like an angel… until she smiles at me, that cruel little smirk that says she owns me.

“Took you long enough,” Serah snaps. “Go to the market and bring fresh vegetables. And don’t you dare buy the cheap ones again, you useless thing.”

She shoves a few coins into my hand like she’s feeding scraps to a stray dog. I nod silently, because what else can I do? Words are weapons, and I’ve learned never to pick them up.

“And Azul,” Elara says sweetly, her voice dripping with fake kindness. “Try not to embarrass us today. People already think you’re a freak.”

Her friends giggle from the living room, where they sit sipping tea like little princesses. They look at me like I’m dirt. Maybe I am.

I turn away before they can see the way my chest tightens. Before they can smell the anger I bury so deep inside, it feels like it might eat me alive.

Outside, the morning air is cold and damp. The streets are still quiet, only a few vendors setting up their stalls. I walk quickly, clutching the coins in my fist, praying they’ll be enough. Last time, Serah said I cheated her. She slapped me so hard my ears rang for hours. I didn’t cry. I never cry where they can see me.

The market smells of raw meat and sweat. People shout prices, children run barefoot through puddles, and everywhere, eyes follow me. Some stare at my hair, my skin, my silence. Others whisper.

“There goes the mute girl.”

“Look at her eyes… creepy.”

“She should’ve been drowned at birth.”

I hear everything, even when I pretend I don’t. Their words stick to me like thorns, cutting deeper every day. But I keep my head down. I buy the vegetables. I don’t speak. Not even when the vendor tries to cheat me, because I know what will happen if I come home with less.

When the basket is full, I carry it on my hip and start the long walk back. The weight pulls on my arms, but I’m used to it. I’m used to everything by now, the hunger, the cold, the silence. Pain is a friend. At least it reminds me I’m alive.

By the time I return, the house smells of perfume and sweet bread. Elara’s friends are laughing, their voices like bells. I slip inside quietly, but Elara spots me instantly.

“Finally,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “What took you so long? Did you crawl there?”

Her friends giggle again. One of them whispers something about my hair, and they all laugh harder. My cheeks burn, but I keep my face blank. I don’t look at them. I don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

“Go make lunch,” Serah orders, tossing me a dirty rag. “And scrub the floors after. This place is filthy.”

I nod, set down the basket, and head to the kitchen. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I’ll eat later, if there’s anything left.

I chop vegetables, boil water, season meat. The smell makes me dizzy, but I don’t steal a bite. I can’t. If they catch me, they’ll make me regret it. When the food is ready, I set the table, serving them like I’m invisible.

And maybe I am.

After lunch, I wash the dishes, then the floors, then the windows. Hours pass. My arms ache. My knees throb from scrubbing. But there’s no time to rest not when I still have school.

By late afternoon, I’m running down the street, my bag slung over my shoulder, my braid unraveling in the wind. Night school is the only reason I’m allowed out alone. Serah says education is pointless for someone like me, but as long as I work, she lets me go. Maybe because it keeps me from causing trouble. Not that I ever would. Silence doesn’t start wars.

The classroom smells of chalk and old books. Students laugh and whisper as I slip into the back seat. Some glance at me, then look away, like I’m a shadow passing through. I like it that way. The less they notice me, the better.

I take out my notebook and start copying the lesson. Words fill the page, but my mind drifts. To the moon. To the night I can barely remember. To the parents I never knew.

Do they watch me from the stars? Do they know what I’ve become? A servant. A ghost. A girl with no voice.

The teacher calls on someone. Not me. Never me. Everyone knows I can’t speak. Or maybe they think I can’t. I let them believe that. It’s easier than explaining why I won’t.

When class ends, I don’t go home. Not yet. I go to the coffee shop, where the lights are warm and the smell of roasted beans clings to my clothes. I tie on an apron and get to work—wiping tables, washing cups, carrying trays heavier than my arms can bear. Customers barely look at me, except when they complain. I smile politely, even when my hands shake from exhaustion.

Hours crawl by. My legs feel like lead. My fingers sting from the hot water. By the time the shop closes, my body is screaming, but I keep moving. Because if I don’t, I’ll fall. And if I fall, I’ll never get up again.

The owner hands me a few coins. Not much, but enough to keep Serah quiet for another day. I slip them into my pocket and step into the cold night.

The sky is clear now, the moon a pale circle of light. I stop for a moment, staring up at it, and for the first time all day, I let myself breathe.

The moon doesn’t judge me. It doesn’t mock me. It just shines, silent and steady, like it’s watching over me.

I close my eyes and whisper words I’ll never say out loud.

I’m still here, Mama. I’m still alive. I’m trying… I really am.

Then I turn and start walking home, back to the house where chains wait for me. Back to the silence I’ve chosen, because silence is safer than truth.

But deep inside, something stirs. A tiny spark, faint and fragile, like the first breath of a storm.

I don’t know it yet. I don’t know that my life is about to change. That the walls I’ve built around my heart will shatter. That the silence I’ve hidden behind will be broken by a voice I can’t ignore.

I don’t know that the Alpha, the one everyone whispers about, is waiting. And that when he finds me, nothing will ever be the same again.

A Hard Day’s Burden

Morning comes too soon.

My eyes burn as I force them open, the weight of exhaustion pressing on my chest like a stone. I don’t remember dreaming, but maybe that’s for the best. Dreams are cruel things. They make you hope. And hope… hope is dangerous for someone like me.

The house is quiet when I step out of the tiny storage room they call my bedroom. For a moment, I let myself believe it will stay that way, that maybe they’ve all gone out and forgotten about me.

But then I hear it, the soft hum of Elara’s voice drifting from the kitchen, sweet as honey but sharp enough to cut. She’s singing, the kind of song you’d hear in a ballroom, the kind of song meant for someone who belongs.

I don’t belong.

“Azul!” Serah’s voice snaps through the silence like a whip, making me flinch. “What are you standing there for? Breakfast isn’t going to make itself!”

I don’t answer. I just walk to the kitchen, head down, steps soft. Elara is p