The Wolves of Bridgforth Shallow

Picture above: the Ancient Kingdom

’Although it was his destiny, something he was bred to be. A future forced upon him even before he was born, he couldn’t deny the feeling of contentment. Who wouldn’t be? Becoming King of the greatest Kingdom in the world wasn’t a light matter. But the boy was ready. And upon growing unto a man, he was ready, yet no one could have foreseen the faith laying before them.

It was the Kingdom’s worst time in history. The once loyal subjects were close to leaving everything behind. Rumor spread wide. The Ancient Kingdom was near the brink of death, ready to cease into an abyss until He ascended! The King of all Wolves, the Prince of the Hunt, the Master of the Territory, to whom we thank our name. His Grace, who bore the name of Penrich, son of Queen Adela, stepped upon the gilded throne and governed the Kingdom immediately.

He took it upon himself to return his Kingdom to its full glory. It all started with the rise of the Ancient Houses. The greatest is ours, from which we hail and continue to rule our race and many others for centuries. Seven has sprouted from the Great One and several more from the Seven.

With the Great Houses established and old alliances formed again, Penrich moved on to the first threat arising: The Vampire Rebellion, led by the Salvator kin. With his combined army, he marched forward and fought. He only stopped when each of his foes ended lifeless upon his Themian sword. The blade is now held within the stone walls of the Sheffield Crypts, the steel now faded of silver and stained with crimson blood.

The Kingdom hailed great times. Territories were formed under the rule of the Great Seven and the Several Few. Yet Penrich wanted to do more, not just for his people, but for those unfortunate not to have a safe place. Thus, he formed alliances with others. And these alliances grew when the second threat arose. We now know this as the Battle of the Risen.

Imagine yourself a race so terrifying it plagues not only Peculiars but also Humanity. A subcategory of Zombies so horrible, so menacing, it hunts you with nightmares so severe, one might even consider continuing life. The Rumblers, thus, were their names. Yet Penrich sought to ensure that these terrible creatures would never haunt our world or that of humans. His crazy plan of forming alliances bore fruit, for they trusted their new King to give them the desired protection.

The battle was a hard one that lasted nearly ten years. Until, on one rainy day, the end of the Rumblers came with a crash of thunder and lightning. As Penrich stood victorious upon the fallen body of the Rumbler leader, all who took sight of him bowed and pledged their lives to his cause. At the end of his Era, he had conquered twelve Kingdoms, fought thousands of battles, created an army of nearly 100.000 men strong, and made the best wine we have ever drunk.’

With this said, Princess Ferah Penrich of Bridgforth Shallow closed the book and placed it on her lap. Before the girl sat six small children, all different in age yet the same in looks. Their faces of wonder and amazement sunk to disappointment when their ancestor's great story ended.

A teenage girl, much older than the six, raised her hand with anticipation. The girl was merely 5 feet 41 inches tall, with long, light blond hair, wavy in its texture. Her pale hazel-green eyes were in beautiful harmony with her white skin. Small grey freckles painted her cheeks, and elegant thin eyebrows perfected the sight of a magnificent portrait. Lika was her name.

Ferah, the girl sitting in the chair opposite the young Pups, was like a reversed mirror of Lika. Her hazel green eyes were darker and deeper, her hair a raven color, and her skin tanned as if slightly touched by the sun. Her thin eyebrows were round and formed half-circles above her eyes. The older sibling motioned her hand forward in her sister’s direction. “Wha’ happened to the Kingdom after Penrich died?” her voice carried a gentle, soft tone. The sweet voice held an accent, pure Bridgforth it was. “Well, tha’s for another day, sweet thing.” Ferah returned to her accent as well. It wasn’t like that when she told the story written in Ilianese.

The group wasn’t pleased, yet they understood; it was nearly midnight. The start of the summer vacation, two months of complete freedom, maybe torture for the adults. It is, after all, difficult to raise and control a litter of nearly twenty-seven children. But tomorrow’s a busy day, and the kids need their sleep, and she, too, for that matter. “Afraid we ’ave to continue the story at week’s end. Mother wants us all well rested. Now, off y’all go!” she stood up and waited for every child to leave the library. Lika was the last to leave, turning to her sister with curious eyes. “How was Penrich even able to ally with the Mer Folk?” she asked.

Ferah smiled and rested her arm on Lika’s shoulders. “Dunno.” She responded. “Last I’ve read, they never leave the ocean. But I figured Penrich was always a bit special. I guess he managed, somehow.” Ferah continued to smile, looking into her sister’s hazel eyes. She sees the same eyes in all her siblings, a classic Penrich trait. Lika hummed, contemplating the answer. Lika smiled in response and hurried to her room, navigating perfectly through this complex network of rooms and corridors.

The House of the Penrich kin was as large as a castle. Hallways are so long that it seems like they went on forever. It is filled with furniture in Ulrichian style, stacked with vases, plants, and numerous artistic objects. White marble stones covered the ground, broken white painted the walls, and pale wooden poles were fused with the walls. The ceiling reaches high, decorated with hanging plant baskets and covered in light colors of grey, brown, white, and bits of blue. The packhouse has been in the family since Penrich ruled and has been altered to have a more modern look.

The Penrich family has occupied this magnificent Manor for centuries and never moved away. Each family living there at least harbored one or two Penrichs to keep the tradition alive. The current Monarchs, Queen Morgana Penrich of the Ancient Kingdom, her spouse, King Loddard Iago of Penrich, and their litter of twenty-seven, are the 30th generation living in the House.

Ferah loved her house; the freedom and space it offered were welcoming, especially when one hosted over twenty people. She sighed happily with the last sibling out of the room and slowly walked toward her quarters. The hallway was wide enough for three people to walk side by side. Ferah took a left, a right, and then a left again, going straight ahead until a red glow filled the corridor. It was a freedom for the offspring to decorate their spot of room to their liking, and for Ferah, these likings took shape in crimson and nocturnal paints. A tribute to the Lady of Blackenred, known as Lady Leah of Penrich, the Queen of Blood and Oil*.

Her style of architecture was Ferah’s favorite. Upon entering her room, crimson painted the walls with a charcoal ceiling and wallpapers of spiral patterns. Red velvet curtains graced the windows, letting through the lunar beams from the outside. Silver metal was crafted into the walls, twisting up, down, left, and right like the vines and branches of an olden tree. Her oval-shaped king-sized bed lay in the corner to her right, stretching and bending to the center of the room. Black Breacher wood embraced the bed, reaching higher in frame at the head and tail. White sheets with six cream pillows were placed neatly against the bedframe. A large portrait of a rusty wolf with black highlights, painted in oil, hung above the bed. ‘Gwyndolyne’ was written underneath in golden ink.

The left held a cupboard stacked with clothing and shoes of all colors, yet red and black were more dominant. Next to the cupboard was a door leading to the bathroom. The entire room held multiple cozy pieces of furniture, a medium office next to the bed, and a large Isaiahian carpet covering half of the floor, sewn with the crests of the Seven Great Houses. Pictures of her, her siblings, her parents, and Gwyndolyne occupied the walls. Another door, double in size, at the far end of the room led to the balcony, where Ferah found her solitude and peace. Especially on warm summer evenings like tonight. The clock struck eleven p.m. ’Perhaps some air.’ Ferah strode over to the doors and slightly opened them.

Outside, a comfortable sun-island couch was placed in the corner of the balcony, two normal couches against the rails, and a metal coffee table in the middle. The sun-island couch was Ferah’s place, and only she was allowed to sit in it, for it was hers and hers alone.

She placed herself on the couch and looked around carefully. Comfortable alone, she twisted a small metal handle to the side, causing low, mechanical sounds to erupt behind her. A small door appeared from the white woods of the outer walls, which automatically opened and revealed a hidden treasure. Small bottles of liquid were neatly placed next to each other. Ferah took the first one in arms reach. It was labeled Heaver, a liquid of light percentage, just enough to catch the wind. Under the bottles were glasses of different shapes. Again, she took the one nearest to her. Ferah opened the bottle and poured a small amount into the glass.

She sniffs the air; numerous scents fill her nostrils. The scent of her mother, probably on her evening stroll, the scents of rodents roaming the gardens, the scents of large prey further down the forest, and the scent of Grailwood Lake. Lastly, the vague scent of every sibling in the house. Some have their windows open to conquer the heat. Ferah could sleep on her couch, so comfortable it was, but she wasn’t planning on staying long. She has, however, slept there a few times, even in winter and fall, for the warmth of the Wolf can beat the cold, yet not as much as the Skelcus Clan.

Ferah nestled into the soft pillows. The cold surface was a welcoming chill against the young Wolf’s warm back. It was almost enough to doze off and embrace the descending temperature of the summer nights. But she has yet to finish the last episode of the tenth season of Flower Chase, and that runtime lines up perfectly with the time she has left before falling to bed.

With the empty glass, she placed everything back where it was hidden. The young Wolf twisted the handle back, and the wall door closed again, hiding everything from the most curious eyes. She stood up and headed back inside, closing the door and double-checking it’s secured. While changing into her nightgown, she noticed the multiple scars on her right side, facing the nocturnal framed mirror.

At the age of twelve, young Wolves must choose a training program. And being a Rebel Princess, she chooses the Ranger Program. A deadly one where Young Pups are trained to be vindictive Warriors, the Elite Vanguards. This training pushes every individual to their physical and mental boundaries and beyond. It is rumored that even children lost their lives trying to master this dangerous education.

Ferah was eight years in training, entering her ninth year. The thoughts of retreating have wandered her mind once or twice. But her ambition to succeed was greater than failure. Her sight reached further than her mind, a bright and glorious future where people would gaze upon her in admiration and wonder. She feels that her life will end up greater than it has begun. As clothes covered her scars below, make-up covered the scars above. With a simple washcloth, she erased the cosmetic paints. Upon doing so, it showed a long scar, beginning from the left ear and finding its way down to the collarbone. Afterward, she removed a crystal, round object from her left eye. Removing it revealed an eye of pale green.

It's all a tribute to a practice gone wrong a year ago. A trainee lost control when beaten too many times, and rage has gotten to him and, with it, the Fury. Ferah stood too close when it happened. Furious about the damage done, the King demanded payment in blood if it wasn’t for the Queen to calm her raging husband down. The boy, however, was banished and was never seen again.

Ferah only felt comfortable around her closest circle to walk in her true form. She is unafraid to show her changed appearance, for she knows they won’t judge her. Farah sighed and walked away from the mirror. She re-enters her room, falls into her bed, and takes the remote from the night desk. With one push of a button, a slot opened at the tail of the bed. Slowly, a large, flat TV screen slid from below, only stopping upon reaching its full height of seventy inches. The TV sprung to life, with the logo of Intersell filling the screen.

With another push on the button, Flower Chase started to play. Ferah relaxed, almost dozing off into slumber, but stayed awake to avoid missing anything. An hour later, like it was perfectly timed, the howls of the Chimney Wolves echoed through the Manas the credits rolled, signaling the end of the day and the start of the night.

It was the Monarch’s way of ensuring their offspring slept on time without checking on them individually. The howls lasted for two minutes before ceasing into silence. The night crew then turned to tidy and groomed the place into its glorious form. They also serve as extra protection and eyes for anything unusual.

Content of finally finishing this long series, Ferah closed everything down and nestled herself comfortably between the silken sheets. ’Tomorrow’ll be a long day,’ she thought before surrendering to slumber.