[Snowseph]

wow, I completely forgot 300 was being revamped... I must say, he looks infinitely better than when I made him. cx I won't be trying, but good luck to everyone entering! ;v;

XxX Snow

[Nodell]

Reserved <3 I was resisting but I can't anymore ;A;

[Ravendarus]

bump <3

[supernovacity]

(AN: I'll be using first person perspective from 300's point of view.)

"I..am..." I stopped to think, I'd only known myself as the alpha for quite some time now, years in fact.
My heart sped up, what was this...sense of fear? The thought of answering that mere question instilled fear into my mighty heart.
'Who are you?'
It echoed fervently, searing through my mind like sharp flashes of light. Who am I? Who was I? My true identity had long ago been discarded, the whelp I had been swept under the rug, never existing. I couldn't answer that question truthfully, I couldn't reveal my weakness. I couldn't let my strength falter.

I had not been very well off. I was rather sickly in my childhood, weak and frail, brittle like the thin bones of a bird's wing.

wip qwq

[Ravendarus]

bump <3

[hypnowave]

Oh, no. He knew.

His name was not something he let go of often. Masquerading as an Alpha was what had always done. Going behind the name of the one rank he had chased for weeks, months, years, and before he knew it, he'd lost count of the years.

Ever since that fate had befallen him, he had chosen to forget his old name. No longer was he the wolf without the rank he desired. Being the last of his tribe, however... it was almost too much for him to bear. It was not worth it. He had paid the price too soon, being too naïve to understand.

This wolf in front of him was just as questioning, but his own story was a mystery. The Alpha knew that just by seeing the two wings on his adversary's sides. He saw the grays and the light blue grooves on his fur, the glow that leaked from his eyes. But the Alpha did not wish to see beyond the veil when his own mysteries were locked away in his heart.

But those mysteries were echoing. They were constantly following the Alpha, just like the large white-and-brown butterfly that was perched on the Alpha's back, hidden from the view of the winged wolf. Both the thoughts and the butterfly seemed to call to him. And then the Alpha felt the tug, his mind surrendered and he allowed his childhood memories from him and his parents to burst forth.

---

Father... those butterflies in the clearing. Haven't you seen them? They're so beautiful. One had blue wings and glowing, pearly white speckles, Father. And the other one, the other one was black and had these sapphire lines. They were my favorite butterflies. They were so beautiful, Father. But they weren't as pretty as the butterflies in your stories. They were even prettier than that.

And I saw her. The she-wolf in your stories. When I got home from hunting, Father, I went past that garden. The one that's just like a clearing, with paths and flowerbeds and sphere lights that glow at night. There, I saw the she-wolf sitting on a rock. Those two butterflies were fluttering all around her.

I was... amazed, Father. Those butterflies were so beautiful. I couldn't believe my eyes. And I followed them to the she-wolf. That was when I realized that she was the one wolf you always told me about. The one in your stories, the bedtime stories that took me to sleep every night.

When I almost caught the butterfly, she grabbed my paw. Since you told me she was as scary as a witch, I was afraid, Father. But no, she was like an angel. She gently let go of my paw and smiled. And she wasn't mute like you told me she was. No, she spoke to me. She told me not to hurt the butterflies. Maybe they were her only friends.

Oh, and she was beautiful, Father. Just like those butterflies. The wolf asked me to sit next to her. She had silky long fur, and it was so white that it reflected the sunight, and she had brown eyes that matched the dotted hazel patterns on her fur. Just like me and you, Father, she had those brown eyes. She wasn't scary. She was so nice to me, and taught me to let the butterflies fly to my paw. She let me pet them gently, their wings were as soft as her fur. And then we talked to each other.

We were so much alike, Father. We both loved the butterflies, we both loved the clear water from the border stream, and we loved the life around us. And, mostly, we loved art. Why, Father, would you tell me to stay away from her? I don't want to. She's so nice to me. There's nothing wrong with that, is there, Father?

---

Do you remember my story, dear Son? About two butterflies, one blue with white dots, and one black with dark blue stripes? Ah, you must have forgotten them. When I first taught you about these, you were no more than four years of age. I remember that day, when you were tucked in your little flowerbed, and your tail blanketed you. You were wearing your favorite accessory, the skull of a squirrel tied with a string around your neck. And your sweet brown eyes gazing expectantly at me. There was a small smile on your face. A quiet, innocent smile.

I missed telling you that story, dear son.

Every sunset, there was always a she-wolf who sat in a corner of the clearing. When the skies turned a citrus orange, she would stay on the rock and wait for her two companions, the butterflies. No one knows about what this wolf does with these butterflies after the sun sinks behind the horizon.

The nearby tribes don't know who she is. No one knows her name, her identity, her family, or where she lives. No one's ever talked to her. Not even a light conversation that didn't include names. Nothing. And when those tribal wolves have to return to their families and feed their young, as the sun is yet again pulled to the horizon, the mysterious she-wolf disappears wihout a trace.

Well, one day, an omega spotted her and accidentally thought of her as someone else. He said hello to her, and she raised her chin kindly in greeting without speaking. The omega then spread the word, telling others tribes that he suspected the she-wolf was mute and unable to speak with words.

Little by little the tribes learned of this she-wolf's two butterflies. A new myth surfaced, of her being able to speak with the insects. And only to those butterflies, and not to other wolves. And thus, the tribes spread more myths, that the she-wolf was capable of black magic. And, ever since then, the wolves avoided her. No longer did anyone go to the garden-clearing, in fear of this mysterious she-wolf. They thought she was a witch.

Son, this isn't like the other stories I've told you about. This isn't fantasy, not like the tales of three blind mice, or the three little pigs, or the mousedeer and the crocodiles, or dragons, or wizards. No, this story is true. The she-wolf really did come to the clearing every sunset. I'm telling you this, dear Son, because I don't want you to wander every time you go home from hunting and battle practice.

---

Little pup, why are you here again? Run along home. Your father will be worrying about you if you get home late. I'm sure you've heard of what those other wolves of your tribe have said about me. It's true that I'm lonely, because of what they speak of. But don't come and see me too often. Especially when you want to play with the butterflies who always accompany me. Or if you want to come with me and drink from the border stream, or if you've discovered a new and interesting plant.

After all, you have your father. Go ahead and share your adventures with him, and tell him about your new discoveries. Besides, I'm used to being alone. At least I have the company of more than just these two butterflies. Every sunset, I hear the sparrows feed their young, and the sound of the trees swaying in the wind, with the crickets' constant chirping as the night reigns on. To be honest, I prefer being alone. I don't want to burden you. Because one day, your own tribe will avoid you, simply because you talk to me so often. Paranoid animals, those wolves.

I'm sure that one day you'll find a butterfly who will always follow you, no matter what. A butterfly that will be an eternal and loyal friend. Even if this butterfly must reincarnate, only to be with you. I don't want your tribe to spread rumors about you because of my presence. One day, not even your friends will want to talk to you. Go home, little boy. I also need to return. It's time for these butterflies to sleep.

---

Father, I couldn't find those two butterflies this sunset. Maybe they were sleeping, out there in the cold night, somewhere too far for me to reach. Maybe they've rested their wings without realizing it, and left their eggs, to hatch into little caterpillars. And then those caterpillars would hide themselves in little white silk pods, fragile, and later into even more butterflies.

Neither could I find that she-wolf, Father. No one was in the garden-clearing that time. I've already searched everywhere. The benches, the paths, even the little pond where the frogs croak. I've already brought a lot of rabbit meat from the hunt and didn't eat them at all, because I had wanted to share with her. I had wanted to enjoy her favorite food with me. Father, is she mad at me? Is she unhappy because I've always visited her? Do my comings make her uncomfortable? If she really is angry, I can't understand why. She's never been angry at me before. She's always smiled whenever I came to see her, kissed my forehead every time I left her. She's never said anything about her feeling annoyed with me.

Well, she's warned be before. She told me not to see her anymore. She liked being alone. But I didn't believe her. I was sure that she didn't want to see me because of another reason. She always looked so happy whenever she saw me, and whenever I saw her. When I ran to her, she would lie down on her rock for me to hug her. I know how she had always waited for me after hunting and training.

Father, I miss those butterflies. And I want to meet that she-wolf again. I hope you're not angry if I see her again. I really loved playing with her and her butterflies. It was so much more fun than playing tag-the-weasel with all the other pups. Father, are you sure that you've never known that she-wolf? That you never knew where she came from or where she lived? Please, if you know where she lives now, take me there, Father.

Please.

---

Son, take a look outside, go to the garden-clearing. It's filled with tiny, colorful butterflies. Look, son, their wings are glowing. But there are three butterflies, bigger than the rest. And that one, the biggest of all, is the most beautiful, isn't it? I've never seen such a pretty butterfly. The way its white wings could match with those little, hazel-brown patterns. The way it flaps its wings slowly and gently. So elegant... just like your mother.

Look, you're teary-eyed just to watch. You're happy, aren't you, Son, seeing all these butterflies? You missed them, didn't you? Play with them now, Son. I'm sure they'll be happy to play with you too.

---

No. I don't want to play with them. Look at that largest butterfly. It is the most beautiful one. But its colors are exactly the same as the she-wolf's coat and eyes, the last time I saw her. That young she-wolf, Father. I don't want her to turn into a butterfly just so she can accompany me. I don't care if the other butterflies leave me, as long as that wolf is still there for me. I don't want to play with those butterflies. I want that beautiful she-wolf, Father. Just that she-wolf.

I want my mother.

---



Before he realized it, all that had ran through his head was gone. He had experienced it all over again. Those visits to meet the pretty she-wolf, the nights when his father reprimanded him for seeing her at the garden-clearing. It all went back to him and he welcomed them, those wisps of stories flashing before his very eyes.

The Alpha stiffened when he heard the winged wolf flap his wings impatiently. But he said nothing, so the Alpha straightened. From behind him, he felt the butterfly creep closer to his ear. And for that one moment, that one second, he heard a familiar voice reverberate in his head. A voice that was honeyed by many trips to the garden-clearing, dripping like the morning dew from the trees above to the rock where they had always met.

You were my son, Alistair. Is that who you still are?



The words hung in the mind of the Alpha. That was his name, or was the name he went by when he was only a pup in training. Ever since the she-wolf at the clearing had disappeared and had been strangely replaced by the butterfly, he had begun to forget the name. Then the worse happened.

War. The tribes had fallen out and they had grown aggressive. They wanted more territory, more prey. They had even fought over the garden-clearing, ever since the she-wolf had disappeared. They claimed they needed every strip of land they could get. It had been a winter that brought death, and the blood of the fallen did not help soil the icy earth.

By then he had grown into a fine fighter. He still had the butterfly by his side, her wings seemingly oblivious to the crisp cold. The wolf had replaced the squirrel skull necklace with the skull of a deer that rested on his head. He had grown stronger and had become the one to turn to and fight with.

Unfortunately, it was also the winter of his father's death. The bold brute had fallen to the claws of an enemy Alpha, and that was when the seed of bloodthirst had been planted into the vengeful heart of his living son. No longer going by Alistair, or any other name, he became stronger.

But his strength meant nothing when the tribes were dying. The winter had taken lives, and the overworked wolves who had fought too often were weak to the cold and the frostbite. Foolish, they were, to keep their newly built grudges around them instead of bringing those grudges down. So many of them had lost their lives to what he remembered as the war of cold claws and cold hearts.

That was when he learned that he was the last of the tribes. The only living descendant of the ancients. And by default, he was the Alpha. The leader. He had replaced his attire again to the skull and the spine of a buffalo. And that was when the butterfly landed on his nose and a enormous pain had rattled him. He did not understand what had happened then, but when he looked at his reflection in a lake long after, he had seen what he had become.

His eyes were no longer brown, but glowing red. The bones had been permanently fused into his structure and he had grown physically stronger. He didn't know what had truly happened, he had begun to suspect that he was now delirious. But he was the Alpha still.

And yet with all the death around him, he barely felt like he had avenged his father. All he ever had left was the butterfly, and as he grew he had begun to doubt whether or not it was the true embodiment of his mother.

But she had reminded him of who he had used to be, and asked him who he was now. She wanted to know. And now the truth was slowly dawning on the Alpha, who he had been had shaped who he was now.

How hard it was to remember all those happenings through his own eyes.

---

Father? Where are you going, Father?

No. I don't want you to fight with all the other wolves, Father. I don't want you to run out of the den with all the other warriors, I want you to stay with me and with Mother. The tribe can protect itself, Father, we don't need to fight. It's winter, we're all hungry, we don't have to fight for our food.

The deer are running, they're listening to us fight. They know where we are and they're running away from us, Father. We need to hunt. I know we do. So would... so would Mother. Father, I miss hugging you each night after all those bedtime stories about a wolf and her two butterflies. I miss each night we spend together, Father. Please don't go away. Please don't fight.

---

Son, haven't I told you before? You know I have to fight. It's always been this way each winter, all the other tribes are preparing to battle against each other for territory and food. The deer may run and may their stride be swift, but there will always be remainders. We will feed on those remainders, we will be strong. Son, you know I have to leave. I've always gone to battle and come back.

The winter will go on, but it will eventually fade away and surrender to the warmth of spring, to give the flowers time to bud and to allow the earth to renew itself. The sun will emerge once more to encourage the trees to grow their leaves, for the grass to appear and for the streams to flow once more. The deer will return to feed on the grass, and we tribes return to our former glory.

And even then spring will become summer. The sun, who has been a steadfast friend, will turn harsh to encourage us to become more enduring. It will dry up the lake beds and the streams, and along with it we will see the animals starve. Summer can be long and plentiful, but it will be a difficult season.

Then we will see the sun slip back as it sees it has done its job. It will then hide in the clouds and watch from far away as we see new alphas, new omegas, new hunters and fighters. We will prepare once again for winter and so will our prey. Tensions will rise once more as the sun is no longer our guardian, it watches us but will no longer interfere.

The sun will see all is good and will disappear into winter, allowing the earth to rest and refresh itself in the cold. And it all takes place once more.

And so I will fight.

---

If only my echoes could reach him. For all I knew, I was screaming his name, repeating and rolling the word around in my head. It was the only thing that could keep me sane at the moment. I wasn't sure if it was possible for a soul to endure all this. I was yelling, pouring all my despair and frustration into the soundless howl of the night. I wasn't prepared for all this.

All I knew was that I was breaking apart. My very existence was now scarred, and I was sure that a crack had appeared on the surface of the glass that sustained my life. My need for him was like a rose; if only I had paid more attention to the thorns. Now my paws were bleeding freely, for those thorns were apparently more lethal than what the eye could see. And perhaps, the rose stem had been layered with poison, for I could feel a wild desire spread through my veins.

Winter's snow and summer's searing heat, when clashed together, created an unimaginable mayhem. With my grief and madness mixed together, I could not tell what I was truly feeling. Perhaps I was losing control of myself. I did not know what was wrong with me anymore. If my consciousness was leashed, it would be pulling at me until I lost my grip on reality.

A flash of red light met my eyes. I didn't know what was happening. I must have been hallucinating, because I had seen him. With my very eyes, I had seen him, safe and sound. And he spoke my name, his voice soft and apologetic with a tender look in his eyes. He was my father reborn, with the sun itself behind his back. He told me to get up and come with him. But before I had the time to grab his outstretched paws, he disappeared.

That was when I learned to accept reality.

He was gone. Forever, perhaps, and maybe I would never get the chance to see him again. I lose all I had when it came to a father. I remembered myself as a pup, hugging him closely, making sure that we would never again be apart. Because my need for him, unlike my entire life, was real. All else was a lie, a fake, a fraud. He was my only light of hope, and now that he was gone, I was left in darkness.

---

They say there are five stages of grief. And that grief ends in acceptance. Did Alistair meet this stage? Yes. After many years of mulling over the death of his father along with the death of the tribes... he realized his legacy. He would build a new tribe to make sure the way of the ancient wolf never died. And so here he was now. He was still the last wolf to have ever lived the tribal way... he was both the last and the first.

He would be the first Alpha to build from scratch.

A smile began to appear on his face. He did not feel it and only noticed it later on. He looked at the winged wolf in front of him and pronounced in renewed pride,

"I am Alistair, the first and the last Alpha."

story by me
art credit [ in order ]
balto.
KenazRavenTooth
myself
BlueSpiritWolf

[Ravendarus]

Does anyone need an extension? quq

[koegami]

probably me, i have an idea and i'd love to have a go and enter this

[Ravendarus]

This will be extended till February 8th -Can currently judge best on weekends XD- Hopefully that is enough time?

[Ravendarus]

Okay this ends today QuQ <3

You have a few hours to finish and then I will be judging! Remember I am mainly judging on the story! I will post the hour warning!