To be honest I am not entirely sure which of them actually bothers me the most. Ayal with her apparent inability to speak and just stare, Eden with his bizarre mind that seems to think upon an entirely different level, or Anslem, whom I am entirely sure has been plotting my demise since the beginning. It is merely unfortunate he is actually growing to a size in which this demise is entirely possible. My attention drifted from Ayal in this moment, the girl looking so entirely like her Mother that it was almost disturbing, the violet of my gaze returning to Eden now as he spoke in a condescending manner that I was very nearly almost proud off. At least I sire intelligence, the boy truly a rather exceptional make up of Ava and myself, destined entirely for greatness I am sure, it is merely a shame I cannot lay claim to him. At least not while I still live, some part of myself unwilling to displease Isola so nor face Azraels accusations. Cowardly? No. I merely don’t have the patience for family feuds any longer. Eden’s words however see the barest hint of a smirk trace my lips, the boy never truly having seemed to understand how or why so many still bow at my paws and speak my name in the same voice as others of legend. It is almost as if it irritates him, as if he cannot belive it to be true and yet is faced over and over again with the reality that perhaps I am more then he, may be more then he will ever be and yet truly I hope not, a son such as he has every right to rise high, a mind as his own should not be wasted. His words however do little more then see a shrug roll upon my shoulders.

“I hardly force them, Eden. They merely understand whom is their King and if you desire to take it, then do so, take it, no one is stopping you. Start small, find others who will follow you, pluck them from the shadows or the loner lands as I did so many years ago, make yourself their Leader and when the time is right, make yourself their King. Simply find the weakest pack and make it your own. With followers already in place more will come. Make yourself forever…unpredictable and distance yourself from that friend of yours, Solaris, he will not help you in this.”

I never did like that boy, my own grandson, to be sure and yet there is something so entirely off about him that I find it displeasing, tail flicking briefly.

“Make your own legend, Eden, believe it and others will follow and soon it will be they who speak your name in reverence and you merely need sit back and enjoy it, make yourself appear invincible. The game of thrones is one of smoke and mirrors, allow others to see only what you permit.”

It was Anselm who drew my attention from Eden, eyes resting upon my grey tinged son before returning to meet the mere mirror image of myself, as if truly I had been reborn and really I was a rather remarkable looking creature now wasn’t I? It would seem, by the boys words, that others have noticed this resemblance as well, my own words…more guarded now, content to answer the boy and yet perhaps not entirely so. Half-truths after all, are the speciality of any Angel-born.

“Because you are white, Anselm, because you carry eyes like my own, just as over half of Diveen merely does. Wolves are foolish, they merely see a white pelt and find reason to make comparisons. Does not half of Iromar look identical? You are nothing more then the victim of fools who seem content to call you by my name, just as Azrael is often mistaken for Letum though they bare no close relation, Calista often mistaken for Yin, Guardian often mistaken for that odd little wolf from Iromar as Amir was often taken for Ashido. It is coincidence Anselm, we hold a similar look and yet does not every white-pelted wolf hold a similar look? You should be flattered to be mistaken for someone more then you are.”

Surely some one, at some point, had mistaken some of those wolves for each other, it was hardly the point, merely names I had thrown together based on my own knowledge of vaguely similar appearances and yet half of them, conveniently, no longer lived within Moladion to prevent the boy from truly being able to compare them.

“Many of the Angel line bare similarity Anselm, your Mother has never revealed, not even to me, the name of your sire and it is perhaps entirely possible he is of Angel blood- hence your appearance and the way in which you look as many others. It is merely lucky it would seem, that you have been fortunate enough to look much as myself. You should count it as a blessing.”

Another chuckle rolled once more upon my tongue, eyes remaining upon the boy before flicking to each in turn.

“Any more questions, children?”

They were grown now and yet they would forever be as children to me.


h e y e l
The Original Angel