*Here's the backstory, which you can skip*

You'll understand the core of the story better if you read it. It won't matter if you don't read it.

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In the beginning, witches ruled the lands, their formidable power so mighty nobody dared provoke them. All creatures, for the most part, coexisted harmoniously, maintaining a peaceful balance until a werewolf and a witch fell in love. So profound was their love that the witch divulged her secrets, assisting the werewolf and his friends in attaining unparalleled power. Harnessing both their inherent abilities and the witch's magic, the werewolves gradually ascended to become the predominant rulers of the world.

What had once been known as a love story between a witch and a werewolf turned into one of heartache and betrayal. With resistance to black magic and began ruling over the other creatures, the werewolf cast aside the witch. Humiliated and vengeful, the witch cried to her coven after failing to land any offensive magic on her lover and his pack members. Disgusted by their sister, the witches turned their backs on her.

Time continued, and the witch finally perished, watching from afar as the werewolves continued to flourish in strength. The once-celebrated 'love' story faded into the forgotten realms of history. The werewolf, now known as the first King of Wolves, took another as his wife, and their offspring carried on the lineage of the royal blood.

History may have been forgotten and obscured over time, but the werewolves endured as a symbol of power. Unbeknownst to them, the witches harboured a deep-seated resentment for these beasts, which festered until the year 2000, when war erupted. The witches manipulated circumstances, fueling animosity between vampires and werewolves, leading to frequent battles for resources that ravaged the once-peaceful land.

Caught in the crossfire of war and amid the power struggle, humans emerged as the most vulnerable among the various creatures. Their weaponry lacked the sophistication and strength needed to shield themselves and their homes. The distant echoes of gunshots marked the inefficiency of tanks missing their targets, a stark testament to the ongoing conflict between vampires and werewolves.

Uninformed about the weaknesses of either vampires or werewolves, humans unwittingly became victims, facing a rising toll of casualties. Fear sliced through the hearts of men as fields and roads turned into a sea of blood, and bodies of humans, vampires and werewolves were scattered in the streets. The clouds hung heavy in a dark and sombre grey, a storm brewing as though the heavens were expressing discontent with the transpiring events.

Shops stood shuttered, streets eerily deserted, and lights flickered intermittently. In one town, electricity stubbornly persisted, a meagre beacon for the werewolves encroaching upon human land. Desperately clinging to the dwindling hope of victory in this war, the werewolves initiated a quest for the elusive Tree of Life. Although deemed a myth, whispered around campfires and narrated to children as fairytales, every story held a kernel of truth.

It was believed that those dwelling beneath the Tree of Life possessed the extraordinary ability to enhance the power, strength, and speed of both werewolves and vampires. Their magic was so pure and potent that it was described to resemble the refreshing taste of the crispest waters on the tongue. Inhabitants of the Tree of Life took the form of ethereal beings characterised by pointed ears and eyes in a vivid lake blue-green shade. The clarity and sparkle of their gaze were so captivating that other beings found it challenging to look away, feeling an irresistible desire to immerse themselves in the cool waters of their refreshing stare. These ethereal beings were elves, peaceful creatures deeply connected with the trees, grass, and the earth beneath their feet.

However, the werewolves weren't the only ones seeking their kind. Vampires, too, coveted the elves. Fearing their plans would be thwarted, witches engaged with dark elves who happily encroached upon elfin territory. Unlike the elves associated with the Tree of Life folklore shared among other creatures, the dark elves were known as their malevolent counterparts. They were always cast as mischievous or evil adversaries in stories.

Still, the elves remained in harmony with their tree, feeling blessed and protected, unaware of the dangers approaching their sacred home.

"This evening," the elven Lord of elfin, Lord Laeroth Aegrandir, turned to face his people, standing in front of the glimmering golden tree known as the Tree of Life. "We celebrate the birth of twenty new arrivals."

Lord Laeroth Aegrandir stood tall, his high collar embellished with two silver leaves pressed together, his attire a blend of a light blue-silver and white to match his long silver hair falling to his waist. Beside him, his wife of golden locks and green eyes, a darker contrast to the usual elven eye colour, Lady Phyyra Aegrandir, smiled at those cheering for joy at their new buds. Behind them, the tree began to vibrate; it was the softest hum only the elves could hear, so in touch were they with the tree and life force around them, they could feel and hear what no other creature could.

"It is time," Lord Laeroth announced, spreading his arms wide. "Brothers and sisters, come, collect what we have long awaited."

Nineteen couples with radiant faces and glowing smiles approached the tree, looking up as the wind picked up, allowing their hairs of green, light blue, white, silver, gold and navy black to swirl behind them. With one last relaxing inhale, synchronised with the slightest of movements of the leaves, glowing buds began to float down from the golden Tree of Life.

With the inky night sky and galaxies twinkling in the vast distance, the tree became a beacon with a gentle golden glow casting those in its blessed light. The other elves witnessing such a joyous occasion stood between the tree and fireflies and candlelight, tables and chairs for a 'garden party', a bonfire already crackling in the background, ready for the winter night.

It was a precious day for the parents receiving their buds- their babies- and so everyone was gathered to see the new bundles of joy. Like elves' birth, they are also given back to the Tree of Life on their deaths, awaiting reincarnation. But today was extra special because the elven Lord and lady were also receiving their precious daughter.

Lord Laeroth held his hands up towards the glowing ball of golden light floating towards him. Surrounding the tree, other colours glimmered, the buds landing in their parent's arms, the lights dimming as the large flower petals parted, revealing their giggling baby. Laeroth eagerly waited as the glowing light became more prominent the more it lowered towards his hands. The bud landed in his hands, the light piercing the sky the moment he did; the elves cheered for their Lord's daughter.

Before the bud began to unfurl its petals, the skies grew stormy, clouds rolled in, bats baulked around the Tree of Life, the other babies cried as the full moon became eerily bright, and the loud sounds of the bats drowned out by the sudden heavy downpour of rain. The lights flickered out, but the moon persisted.

Laeroth looked at his beautiful wife, fear reflecting in her eyes as she looked down at their bud of life. Their location had been exposed. They were no longer safe.

Elven warriors sprinted toward the flickering lights in the distance. Laeroth inhaled deeply, watching Phyyra's tears trickle down her cheeks. The sounds of battle cries and blood splattering the earth vibrated along the ground back to Laeroth. "Do not get upset, my love," he whispered gently to his wife, cupping her cheek.

Picking a golden plum from the tree, he accepted the bud from Phyyra and lifted the pair up once more, murmuring an incantation. The bud returned to a bright bubble of light. "Be safe, my precious daughter," he whispered into the golden light before he pushed it away in the air. The ball floated away as the elven Lord and Lady turned their backs on the Tree of Life and charged towards the battle.

Several days later, the triumphant howls of the werewolves echoed through the forest as they secured victory by a narrow margin, emerging as the dominant force among all species. The elven race faced extermination, the witches and vampires vanished, and tranquillity reclaimed the forest. Now, after thirty years, only the dwindling Tree of Life remains as a silent witness to those ethereal beings who once existed and cherished the forest and earth.

Over the course of these three decades, the werewolves allocated territories among the different packs and opted not to partake in further warfare to facilitate their recovery. They did, however, remain steadfast in their commitment to train formidable wolf warriors, maintaining their supremacy. Driven by a reverence for great power, the packs organised werewolves into ranks such as Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and other guardian positions based on their respective abilities.

~ 2041 ~

“Push! Keep pushing!” The midwife shouted again.

A radiant ball of golden light enchanted the hospital room of a pregnant she-wolf giving birth.

Crying out in shock and pain at the strange atmosphere, the she-wolf squeezed her husband, the Beta of the Blue Crescent pack's hand. He waited eagerly, ignoring the pain of his fingers in the birthing suite.

"Almost there!"

With a resounding cry, two baby girls came into the world as twins, a surprise that astonished the midwife and the couple. One adorned a coat of brown hair and light blue eyes, mirroring her parents, while the other delighted and giggled with pale blonde hair and sparkling blue-green eyes—an appearance unprecedented in the history of the wolf pack.