Dan's Point of View
They don't kneel the way they used to.
I see it in their eyes—fear, yes—but not the kind I want. Not respect. Not loyalty. Just... hollow terror. Cowardice. Disgust, even.
The Supreme Blood Moon Pack has become a corpse that still breathes.
Since Batista fell, this place has grown colder than the Wastelands. No laughter. No hunting songs. No joy. Just silence—thick, suffocating silence—broken only by the occasional scream when another wolf is dragged to the Well of Misery.
The Well now overflows with bones.
Bones of traitors.
Or at least, that's what I call them.
Some were late for patrol. Others spoke too freely. A few... simply looked at me the wrong way. That was enough.
They say I'm harsh. They whisper I've become a tyrant.
Let them whisper. Let them choke on their fear. I am their Alpha. Not by their vote. Not by their favor. By fire and blood and what I made of this broken pack.
