The Goddess Tree stood as the undisputed centerpiece of the clearing, its ancient presence intensified by the gathered Ghost Moon Pack. Its massive trunk, a grayish-white expanse, seemed to drink in all sound, a stark contrast to the black sap weeping from its bark, which shimmered with a faint gold in the filtered light.
The tree's thick, gnarled roots snaked outwards, creating a natural, ethereal pattern across the ground. Between these beautiful, wavy protrusions, members of the pack sat, arranged by the shade of their cloaks. Those in the darkest shades of blue were closest to the trunk, their bodies nestled within the root-formed alcoves. Further back, lighter blues gave way to the white-cloaked defectives, deemed unworthy to approach the sacred heart of the tree.
Silence. The moment one stepped beneath the canopy of the Goddess Tree, the vibrant sounds of the forest—the rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, the distant hum of nature—vanished entirely. A profound stillness enveloped the space, so absolute that even the hushed chanting of those kneeling, their foreheads pressed to the earth in prayer to Nyx or the emerging Queen, was utterly inaudible.
Closest to the immense trunk, High Priestess Nikki, Alpha Norton, and the Beta knelt, their bare palms pressed against the ancient bark. Their heads were bowed, necks exposed in the ultimate gesture of respect. Some wolves in the assembly had shed their human forms, their lupine shapes also bowing in reverence. The air itself thrummed with devotion, a palpable, silent energy emanating from the thousands of souls gathered in quiet communion with their goddess.
Carly marveled at the sight before her, a sea of blue as if the ocean had been transported to the middle of the forest. Every shade imaginable surrounded the towering tree—one God, one thought, one prayer. It was a sight Carly didn't think she'd witness many times in her lifetime. The devotion the pack held for their goddess was unlike anything she had ever seen.
She had always considered herself a believer, a fierce soul acting in step with the goddess's mission. But to see this—to witness true, unwavering devotion, so clear and crisp it was like crystal—it was something else entirely. It didn't shake her faith, but it certainly redefined it, making her feel as though faith had been a passing thing in her life, not its unwavering center.
Removing her shoes, Carly stepped forward. Above her, birds chirped in the sky, singing their song as if they, too, were celebrating, all of them praying to Nyx for the Queen to emerge. But the moment she entered beneath the shade of the leaves, an abrupt silence descended. She looked around, trying to hide her growing apprehension, but no one else seemed alarmed. She had never experienced anything like this. She'd always believed they were simply believers without proof, clinging to faith in the absence of concrete evidence. But this was evidence. No mere tree had the ability to shut out the world. The air she breathed didn't feel like that of the pack lands; this was something else—sweeter, fresher, cleaner, an air she had never tasted.
Her heart squeezed with the thought of the only person she'd want to see in this moment, the only face that would offer her comfort and guidance. She was here to do a job, present as a council member. But in the profound stillness, a stillness she knew no one else could hear, she bowed her head, letting it meet the cool, damp earth. Pressing her palms to the soil, she allowed herself the moment she had craved: to simply be a girl left in grief.
"Mama," the word slipped past her lips like its own prayer. She knew it was probably blasphemy—to come to this holy place, this place of history and ritual, and offer not a prayer, but a pleading word. She just wanted to see her mother.
The solitude of the ancient tree, rather than offering solace, seemed to amplify her profound loneliness. She missed her mother, not just the guidance she offered as a council member, but the warmth of her presence, a comfort she hadn't had the luxury to truly mourn.
Though she couldn't see it, a golden light, forming the silhouette of a woman, arrested her palm over her daughter's head.
"This loneliness you feel, it's a testament to the love we shared, and that love, my darling, never truly leaves you."
The words hummed around Carly in the overwhelming silence. She couldn't discern where the voice originated. Looking up, Carly's eyes darted around her, desperate to see her mother, to glean the smallest glance of the woman she so desperately wanted to see.
"Please," Carly begged, trying to regain some composure. She just wanted her mother to appear before her.
The glimmer of gold knelt before her daughter, pressing ethereal fingers to her cheek. Even though she knew it was futile, it was a gift and its own punishment to be able to speak to her one last time, to offer some kind of comfort.
"The path ahead seems long and shadowed. But even in the darkest forest, light finds its way. You are more ready for this than you know. I am always with you."
Philip watched, disgusted, as Carly looked like a lost puppy, her eyes darting around. He knew she was probably looking for her dead mother, trying to see if the rumors of the blessed tree were true. Kicking off his shoes, he decided to give it a whirl. Might as well make some brownie points.
At the edge of the shadow line, watching the leaves dance in shadow on the ground, Philip wondered who he would meet, if anyone, should he step forward. In the off chance that this was real, the only person he could imagine speaking to him was some distant relative. Either way, the sun was particularly warm today, and he felt like it would be nice to take a bit of rest under the tree's protection. He imagined the cool shade might offer some relief from the stifling atmosphere of reverence he found so tiresome.
With a tentative step, one foot beneath its ancient canopy, the profound silence of the tree was shattered, not by the sounds of the forest, but by a voice that rippled through his mind like a winter's gale—the spectral, unforgiving voice of his great-great-grandfather.
"You disgrace our family name, clinging to a title you did nothing to earn! You think my legacy is a game? This is not some trinket for your depraved pleasure, you whoremongering, lazy dog! You are staining my—"
Philip's eyes widened. He hadn't even uttered a single prayer, hadn't fully stepped under the tree, before his great-great-grandfather decided to open his big mouth. He recognized the old man's voice the second he started to speak. Pulling his foot back, he cut off whatever other ramblings the old fart would hurl his way, before deciding to give the geezer a few choice words of his own.
Sticking his head back under the tree's shade, he quickly uttered a few words: "I will fuck six more whores just because of your rude words. I'm the head of the council now. And you're dead! Shut up."
Philip chuckled to himself, elated to finally say words he had never been able to utter to his great-great-grandfather when he was alive. Especially now that the old wolf wasn't near enough to throttle him. He was safely dead in the next life, and Philip would worry about how to beat the shit out of him when he got there. He felt his heart lighten a bit, pleased that these "absolute freaks" had offered him a level of closure he hadn't expected. Because of the kindness they gave him, he would be sure to… Christen at least one of their defectives with his massive cock, if they had the time.
Marina and Marcus stayed shoulder to shoulder, both lost in their own thoughts, each with their own reason for not entering under the tree's shade. Marina knew that if she stepped one single toe under that shade, she would be assaulted by the Baba Yaga, an ancient spirit that liked to protect the weak. Her family's hands were soaked in so much blood she knew that even if a relative wanted to give her a hint on what to do next, they would be tossed to the back of the line, past all the souls they had killed, all the lies and devastation over the years. She believed the scene would be so profound, it would puncture the silence the tree had hosted for centuries.
Marcus wasn't worried about who would approach him under the tree's shadow; he didn't quite care. He had been under the tree's canopy before. It wasn't special. It was a pretty tree with dazzling, shimmering gold leaves and black sap that probably tasted of divinity. But he was in this earthly realm, and that's what he chose to focus on. He didn't need to worry about those who had already departed this world. They were gone, dead, irrelevant. He was alive! And with every breath in his body, he chose to use it for the betterment of the wolf world, not to pretend that there was a greater meaning or a veil between worlds that held even more relevance. Because nothing that happened under that shade was remotely important, and Marcus thought he might be the only one in this clearing who truly understood that.
Marina and Marcus were soon joined by Philip and Carly. They waited for over three hours as the entirety of the pack prayed, communed, and did whatever else they did with the spirits. Marcus was at his wit's end, but he knew that nothing came from rushing a pack of sycophants. It would only make them take longer out of spite; they would end up praying for his patience and his guidance, and for Nyx to touch his life—something that had happened once in the past, and he was not trying to replicate.
The air under the Goddess Tree hummed with an almost palpable anticipation as the Ghost Moon Pack rose from their various prayers, prepared to help the council find the next Queen. It wasn't merely a formality; it was a sacred call, a desperate search for the one fated to lead, especially since whispers suggested the queen might be among the defectives. This was something Marcus was not willing to tell the packs they would visit. For as long as possible, he intended to keep that part secret.
"Women of all ages, line up!" Marcus called, his voice clear and resounding, drifting to every corner of the clearing.
"Is this all the pack, Alpha Norton?" Carly asked, raising an eyebrow in question before pulling her hood back over her head, hiding her face once more.
"There are a few sick and elderly," he said, feeling it wasn't necessary to bring them.
"All females," Marcus repeated, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
When all the women of the pack gathered into a thick cluster, the elderly being held by their younger pack members, the sick coughing as they were placed on chairs, the ritual began. A hush fell over the assembled wolves, their gazes fixed on the council. Their red cloaks and hoods obscured their faces, an aura of power and dominance surrounding them. The women huddled together, most feeling a sense of fear and foreboding, though a few had a glimmer of excitement in their eyes—even if they knew it couldn't be them, what if?
With some help from the reluctant guards, they brought the women forward one by one. The council would speak directly into each woman's mind, a shot of pain blistering in their skulls at the forced intrusion of sound. But these were words not meant to be shared amongst the entire pack. Once the words had been spoken, the council would issue an order that they were never to be spoken again, ensuring the words remained with those who were meant to know them.
In a show of uncertainty, the council pretended as if they knew nothing about the identity of the new Queen, being sure to test the old, the young, those whose hair was blonde and red, the wolves and the defectives. Each of them was treated just the same, all the while understanding that there was only one group the Queen belonged to, that she would have hair black as the night and eyes crystal blue.
Marina looked upon a defective with black hair and blue eyes. She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old; Marina couldn't be sure. She had lived so long it was hard to tell ages anymore. She wanted to be sure, so she pricked the girl's finger to see if her blood had the unique traces of their Queen, but saw nothing of note. She was able to force her way into the defective's mind. Unlike the wolf, the girl didn't scream, unaccustomed to protecting her mind, to blocking out the sounds of the pack. Marina spoke the words once again, looking deep into the girl's eyes, wondering if she was the one.
Joanne heard the words in her head like a haunting lullaby, unfinished. Desperate to know the end, unable to grasp the meaning, she frowned in confusion but didn't utter a word.
With the last of the pack tested, the council looked at each other, knowing that it was time to go. In the morning, they would head off to the next pack.
"The Red-made Queen is not here!" Marcus announced, quick to turn his back on the crowd, who held their breath. "We will leave in the morning, Norton."
Knowing that he knew the Queen wasn't here, Marcus had little to say to the alpha fanatic. This conversation would be nothing but excessive words about a goddess he'd never known.
The Goddess Tree heard the words the council tried to hide. Its leaves swayed through the air, singing a song, speaking the words of the Queen aloud to all her children who would hear. But no one knew her language, so they heard rustling instead of the ethereal poetry she spoke.