The conference room fell quiet the moment the doors were pulled open with the least person they wanted to see right now.
Adrian Vale
In a perfectly tailored ivory brown suit, he stepped in, surveying the lion's gruesome den. Being the unwanted sibling out of the twelve taught him one thing valuable: his family was always out to kill him. Adrian's gaze swept left, then right, memorizing the arrangement of his brothers at the long table.
The conference table was like a chessboard, and the chess pieces were his brothers, positioned at every critical point on the table. Wrong move and he might be unalived there and now.
Adrian stopped midway, his face stoic as usual as he closed his eyes slowly lifting both his hands to the ceiling.
Clap
Clap
The sound echoed through the room with every head snapped towards Adrian. Twelve pairs of eyes widened, the disbelief plain on their faces, recalling how a pack clap was no ordinary gesture but a divine ancient stepping down of a long-lived Alpha and leader of the Silvercrest Pack. For centuries, no outsider nor half-blood, had ever been able to call it forth a sacred ritual except him.
'It can't be possible.'
Adrian could read each and every one of their minds from the fear-stricken expressions plastered on their faces. He knew what they were thinking: The pack clap was never meant for him. Never for the outcast, how was he able to make such a call?
He watched them slowly loose their fake composure as their jaws tightened, eyes squinting with the kind of pain only betrayal could bring. To see the ritual they had bled, fought, and starved for answered by the brother they had spent years branding as nothing was more than betrayal for them.
Of all the twelve brothers, he was chosen by the moon goddess to continue the succession of their father. Their emotional barricade broke down at once. The fake smiles they had worn on with confidence that either one of them will be picked as the next successor slipped away, one after the other, until the room was left with hosility towards one person: Adrian.
Adrian didn't need their words to have his ego rising. He could taste their hatred, feel the sting of betrayal hanging in the air. To them, he was still the rejected outcast son, the one they had cast aside, mocked, and treated as if he didn't carry the same blood. Yet here he was, standing in the only place they believed they deserved only because they were true blood.
Their stares were sharpened daggers thrown at him. Twelve pairs of eyes cut into him with resentment, but Adrian only straightened his shoulders and let it wash over him. Every clenched jaw, every curling fist, every shallow breath was proof that the moon goddess had laughed at their ambition and handed him the crown instead.
Still zoned out, the doors flung open once again, this time pulled apart by hands gripping the twin handles to the edge. A golden wheelchair rolled forward, the old seed of the Silvercrest Pack seated with an aura that silenced even time itself. The brothers straightened at once. Heads bowed low, throats rumbling as their voices fell in solemn unison.
"Greetings, Father. Greetings, Alpha."
They did not dare raise their eyes until the ritual of respect was complete. Adrian remained standing, his gaze fixed forward, not bending like the others. For him, there was no need. In the midst of the silence, a soft tap rang from the Alpha's fingers brushing the rim of his chair.
"My Lord." With a nod, the great seer obeyed, rolling him halfway down the aisle then stopping short. He released his hands from the handle, retook his steps backwards and fell on one knee. "Alpha..."
Adrian stepped forward, bowing low, the corners of his lips curling into the faintest smirk. He took over from the great seer's place at the wheelchair's handles. Next thing, Gasps rattled through the room with already boiling fury and broken egos knowing the fact that no one touched the Alpha's seat without permission. Not even the firstborn. Not even the strongest.
Their gaze retracted to their father's face but he said nothing, laying his frail hands on Adrian's arms. He gave it a soft squeeze and all the while, with an unreadable expression. They waited for his response or at least a reaction from him however he kept still, his eyes shut.
Did this mean he acknowledged passing the throne to Adrian?
Adrian bowed his head just enough to honor his father and the Silvercrest Pack's final phase of ritual, then straightened up, his dented smirk never leaving. And it began: the traditional passing of the throne by the Alpha to the next successor, accompanied by the walk to the throne—a sacred moment where respect and loyalty were supposed to bind the pack together.
The wheels were pushed against the tiles floor forward through the silence. They witnessed it all right in front of them as the wheelchair got nearer and nearer to the seat of power. Their gaze stopped immediately when Adrian stopped pushing. He gave a slight nod to his father, pulled the chair away from the table, and sat on it, his elbows leaning against the polished oak. His smirk deepened, daring them to protest.
And that was when hell was let loose!
"You must be kidding me, Father!" The powerful slam on the glass table drew everyone's attention to the one who stood up on fury. Fernir Vale, the first of his brother, proud and arrogant. Adrian wasn't surprised that he would be the first to retire such. "Why is that bastard sitting where I am supposed to sit? As your firstborn, your rightful heir! Explain this madness to me, because it makes no damn sense!"
He kicked the chair backwards, walking towards Adrian with a burning glare. He growled, his sharp claws ripping out from his fingertips, and his fangs protruding wider as he lunged towards him. "How dare you steal what was rightfully mine? First Father strips me of my birthright, and now you sit there smugly as if you've earned it? You are nothing but a mistake wearing a crown that should have been mine!"
His claws arced through the air, aiming straight for Adrian's chest to rip him apart. Two guards rushed forward, silver daggers raised against Fernir in defense, however for a long time throughout this chaos, Adrian's voice was heard.
"Stand down."
They obeyed reluctantly, drawing in the dagger into its sheath and standing by the side. Fernir's hand clamped onto Adrian's collar, yanking him forward, hot breath fanning across Adrian's face as he snarled, his claws an inch from tearing into Adrian's flesh. "I'll shred you here and now, bastard! You'll never take what's mine!"
Adrian smirked, his hands rising from his pocket and clamped harshly around Fernir's neck. Fernir's eyes widened, trying to fight Adrian's fae however every fight he gave only lead to him turning blue.
Adrian was draining his wolf essence out of him bit by bit and didn't let go until he felt Fernir had been drained out of every strength he had. "For many years, you've mistakem my silence for weakness." Adrian snared, his grip loosening on Fernir's neck. "But today, brother, you'll learn why I choose to keep silent and entertain your disdain."
Fernir clawed at Adrian's arm desperately, his arrogance fading into raw terror as his power was siphoned away. The other brothers stood in terror, their eyes fixed on Fernir's skin turning to pale blue while he struggled for his life.
In the moment of chaos, he rose to his feet, his hands over Adrian's shoulders and gave it a tap.
"Adrian, that's enough... Fernir must have learnt his lesson."