The White Wolf's Interest
The female white wolf sensed eyes on her—a presence, familiar yet foreign.
She turned, locking her gaze onto the man watching her. His aura stirred something deep within her—an echo of recognition—but he was human. He couldn't be the black wolf she had been searching for.
Still, she studied him. He wore a mask.
Why does he hide his face? she wondered. Is it a shame? Or something else?
Perhaps he was ugly—that was the answer, she thought. Poor man. It's not easy not being attractive in this world.
Yet she wouldn't underestimate him. She could feel it in his aura—something significant, something beyond ordinary—the same presence that surrounded Empress Bai.
Across the room, Bai followed the wolf's gaze, considering.
Ren.
She had her suspicions.
Others had always been drawn to him—effortlessly, instinctively. His presence was undeniable, his pull inescapable. Even beasts were not immune to his gravity.
She almost chuckled at the oddity but reconsidered.
This white wolf…
Could she obtain a human body?
The thought lingered, shifting from amusement to quiet fascination.
After all, in this world, anything was possible.
If beasts could be reborn, if ancient bloodlines could shape destiny, then what else lay beyond the boundaries of expectation?
Perhaps, in the presence of Ren, the white wolf's fate was already shifting.
The Empress's Gift
Empress Bai looked back at Damon WhiteDragon, her smile radiant and rare.
She seldom smiled, and when she did, it sent ripples of awe through the gathered subjects, mortal and immortal alike. A beauty like hers should smile more, they thought, rather than constantly carrying the weight of her position with such solemnity.
But this moment was different.
Her voice was graceful yet firm as she spoke.
"Of course, I accept this gift wholeheartedly. Thank you, Damon WhiteDragon. I shall care for this white dire wolf with love and devotion. I promise."
She paused briefly, considering.
"It seems to have taken an interest in Prince Ren."
The white wolf narrowed her gaze slightly at the Empress.
Interest?
What was she talking about?
Snow Among the Children
Laughter rang through the air—bright, unrestrained. Children surrounded the white wolf, their hands tugging at her fur, their voices bubbling excitedly.
She patiently responded to their joy, nudging them lightly, allowing them to climb over her without protest. She wouldn't harm them—never.
From a distance, Ren and his three wives—Bai, Talia, and Marikyo—watched with amusement as the scene unfolded. Beside them stood Talia and Mariko, their maids, Guinevere and Anastasia, poised yet quietly observant.
"That white wolf is quite good with children," Empress Bai mused. "What should I name her? What do you think, everyone?"
"Snow," Anastasia offered without hesitation. "It's simple, yet fitting—not just because of her fur, but because of its quiet elegance. There's something about it… something natural, yet undeniably significant."
Bai considered the name, watching the wolf move among the children. She noticed how composed yet untamed she carried herself.
It suited her.
Lingering Reflections
Bai's gaze drifted, settling on Guinevere.
She had adjusted quickly to the Eternal Empire, despite once being royalty of the Ashen Empire—much like Anastasia. Yet, strangely, both had abandoned thoughts of revenge far too quickly.
A shame.
Conflict would have made things far more interesting.
Her eyes lingered on Guinevere a moment longer.
An immortal now, she could bring back her husband—or, if she wished, seek him in the afterlife.
And yet…
She had made her choice.
Still, she seemed sad.
"If you two are interested in returning home, understand that you will still serve my sisters as personal maids. However, you will also assist our empire when called upon—to help us conquer other lands when they give us the excuse."
A Choice Made
"I am fine staying here, Your Eternal Imperial Majesty," Anastasia said, her voice steady. "My friend has chosen to remain so I will stay with her."
She turned to Guinevere, who seemed even sadder than the last time Anastasia had seen her.
Guinevere had become like them—immortal. That meant she could do things mere mortals like Anastasia never could. She had told Anastasia that she had met Jaimie again in the afterlife, but he hadn't wanted to return. He was at peace, content to remain where he was.
All he had ever wanted was for Guinevere to be happy.
He had hoped they could spend eternity together in the afterlife, as she once said—but that possibility had slipped away.
She could see him whenever she wished. She could even stay with him. But Guinevere deserved more than that.
Anastasia didn't understand Jaimie's reasoning. But she let it be, accepting it without questioning Guinevere any further.
The Bringer of Chaos & The Enhanced Mortal
"Well then, since you have made your choice, you will be joining the ranks of the Black Dragon Legion under the command of Phawta Noknoi. You will still serve my sisters, of course, but your skills will be helpful in the battles ahead."
Guinevere, you are immortal now. You will be the Bringer of Chaos, as is fitting for a deity of destruction.
Anastasia, you will undergo the Eternal Empire's enhancement program, designed to push human capabilities beyond their natural limits.
Shadows & Snow
Ren stepped closer to the white wolf, his presence effortless, magnetic.
The children swarmed around him, giggling as they clung to his robes.
"Uncle Ren! Play with us!" they called, bright smiles brimming with joy.
His form dissolved into shadow with fluid precision, reemerging as a great black wolf.
Gasps filled the space, delight spilling into laughter.
Small hands ran through his thick fur, tracing sleek strands. A few scrambled onto his back, gripping tightly as their giggles rang through the palace air.
"Look! Uncle Ren turned into a big black wolf!" one child exclaimed, eyes wide with awe.
These children were distant relatives—descendants of his family who had accepted his gift of immortality. They all called him Uncle Ren, whether out of familiarity or tradition.
Yet beneath their laughter, their playful bond carried something deeper—unspoken, but understood.
A Race Between Shadows & Snow
"Uncle Ren, let's race the beautiful Snow wolf!" the child on his back chirped, voice brimming with excitement.
"Pretty please?" they added, puffing out their cheeks in an exaggerated pout.
Ren glanced at the white wolf.
She stared at him, eyes wide with shock, her fur bristling as disbelief set in.
"What the hell are you?" she snarled, fury tightening her voice. "You bastard—I should kill you here and now."
Ren didn't react. He ignored her entirely, his indifference absolute.
Lately, he has begun caring less and less about what people say, though that always depends on the person.
Another child clambered onto the white wolf's back, laughing.
She tensed instinctively but didn't shake them off. Instead, she let it happen, her gaze locking onto Ren, and her expression shifting from rage to challenge.
She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed.
A man had transformed into a wolf before her very eyes.
The Hidden Reign of Immortals
They raced, the children laughing with pure exhilaration. Their forms—far larger than ordinary wolves—allowed them to effortlessly carry the children across the sprawling palace grounds.
The white wolf ran to prove her superiority over Ren, determined to leave him in the dust. But no matter how hard she pushed herself, he matched her pace effortlessly.
She could not get past him.
Infuriating.
It felt like she was being toyed with—how dare a mere man, taking the form of a wolf, challenge her?
He hadn't lived as a wolf or breathed the wild instincts that shaped her very being.
Yet, he ran as if he had always been one of them.
How is this possible?
Eventually, the children grew exhausted. Their laughter softened, their playful energy fading until they drifted individually asleep.
Their parents arrived, gathering them carefully, carrying them home.
The Eternal Imperial Palace
They lived within the Eternal Imperial Palace, a vast, unshaken stronghold seamlessly fused with countless estates, where all nine Eternal Royal Families resided.
The heart of civilisation.
A place where time itself had surrendered, bending to the will of rulers who had never known death.
And yet, within this empire of eternal reign, mortals thrived—unaware of the supernatural forces guiding their existence.
To them, the empire was ruled by dynasties of extraordinary leaders, figures of near-mythological greatness.
They did not know the truth.
Mortals recorded history, believing they understood the world they lived in. Their books spoke of powerful bloodlines, wars, and rulers—but they were blind to the more profound truths.
The immortals did not need written records in the same way mortals did.
History was theirs to shape, not to remember.
They were the past, the present, the future—existing without end, sculpting reality itself.