The Prime Alpha

DERAN "Once there is life, there is hope," people say, their tone strong, looking straight at you as if truer words could never be spoken. And maybe they were right. Maybe once we had life, hope was somewhere around the corner. But the question remained—was breathing a reliable indication that one had life? Okay, indulge me: are you one of those people? Are you grateful for life? Have you learnt from your pains and have come to see life as the perfect teacher? Don’t be shy, speak your truth. This might be no safe space but we only judge quietly here. “You will all write a five-hundred-word essay on gratitude and contentment,” Mrs. Choy had addressed the class in my first year of high school. “You can be flexible with your work, there’s no failing this. This exercise is only to act as a form of introspection, as a guide to look inwards. So good luck to all of you.” I had then attended what people would call a rich kid's school, and I was sure Mrs. Choy figured there were tons we had to be grateful for. I recall sitting there in the half empty classroom, vision blurred with teary eyes, pen dancing in my trembling hand; zero words written on the sheet before me. If you had asked me when I was eleven, or any time before that, I would have told you that I was grateful for life. Now, this is important: there is a short answer and a long answer to why I am no longer grateful for life, or for anything to be honest. Short answer? Well, life has since been drained of its colours and it was now all black and white for me; nothing to feel thankful for. Long answer? Well, storytime. You see, as a kid, I felt lucky that Mum and Dad were goofballs who would eat pancakes with their bare hands, cracking jokes and laughing with careless abandon. Back then, I would have told you I was content with my world; I woke up excited every day because I looked forward to watching my favourite shows, which Mum religiously followed with me even though they were for age twelve and below. I always looked forward to practising with Dad, listening as he taught me all the tricks to being 'the ultimate predator, a masterful fighter'. “Both of your parents are Alphas,” kids my age would say, eyes lit like little bulbs, envy thick in their longing voices. I had long known that there weren’t many Alphas and it was quite the rarity to see one at all, harder to see two in the same place, and even more so, two who were married. Over ninety-eight percent of werewolves were Betas, and Alphas were envied, feared, respected, and by some, hated. But, even as a kid, I knew every werewolf, if given the chance, would pick the red eyes over the amber. Every werewolf secretly wished they were an Alpha. “I hope I'll be an Alpha,” I cried to Mum a day before my tenth birthday, holding onto her arm, face damp with tears. I sniffled, eyes to the rugged floor, “I want to be like you and Dad.” Mum had scooped me in her arms, brought her face close to mine, saying, “Deran, whether Beta or Alpha, you will always be like me and Dad. Always.” Every werewolf changes into the wolf on their tenth birthday for the first time; it happens first on that particular day for everyone, Beta or Alpha. They get to know what kind of a werewolf they were, if their eyes glowed amber or red. There was usually a celebration, and almost every time the kid's eyes glowed amber, hence there being an overwhelming preponderance of Betas. “Any time now, little man,” Dad had squeezed my tense shoulder as I waited, as I prayed in my heart that I wasn’t a Beta. So when I started getting the feelings I was told to expect—heightened senses, light feet, itchy skin—I knew it was time. Mum and Dad had a handful of friends and family around, all of whom cheered me on, mostly around to celebrate that little Deran was now ten years old. Then it happened. They all stared at me with peeled eyes, an awkward restraint I could now identify as fear, and one of them even had a dropped jaw. Mum and Dad were silent at first, each of them holding onto an arm of their boy, but they weren’t smiling or saying anything. The awkward minute or so in which nobody spoke felt like torture; the silence drowned my anxiety and on its surface rose confusion. What was going on? Little me had wondered. Then Mum spoke, turning to Dad, “There’s no way, is there? This cannot be happening.” Dad nodded at her, turning, then cracking a smile at me. “Sweetheart, I fear it is. Our boy is special.” Special? There was nothing particularly special about being a beta, little me had wondered, my heart pounding in anticipation. The moment I had dreamed of was now before me. What was I? There was soft chatter scattered around the living area; one or two people came to look into my face, kind of like how old people got too close to ATM screens. "How is this possible?" Someone present had wondered aloud. "Eyes reveal before changing? What in the world!" Dad handed me a hand mirror and I leapt with joy as I saw my eyes glow red—something I had dreamt about since forever finally came true for me. I was an Alpha. Or was I? “Mum, I'm like you and Dad,” I cried in joy, leaping feets in the air at one go, and then embracing them as they squatted before me. “I'm so happy. I... I don't… I'm so happy, Mum!” Mum stared at Dad rather intently, but not at me. What was wrong? Even then I knew this was a rarity but it wasn't a bad thing, was it? I was like Mum and Dad. This wasn't a thing to cause any worry. But why then did they all look terribly worried? Everyone else watched in silence, far more invested than I would have thought. My little mind assumed they were surprised our entire family were Alphas. “You’re not like us, Deran.” Dad ruffled my hair the way he usually did, patting my shoulder with a look my little mind couldn't then decipher. “You’re something more. Something more special. Far more special.” That was the day I found out I was a Prime Alpha. Yeah, you heard it. No one had ever mentioned it before, and for good reason—the last one supposedly lived some three centuries ago. (Regular werewolves reveal their wolf eyes for the first time after changing; only a Prime Alpha's eyes can first be revealed without the change). Mum and Dad tried to keep the news within the people present, to protect me from things my mind was then far too young to comprehend. Look, if Alphas were hated by Rogues (Betas who didn't abide by community rules) to the extent of sometimes being ambushed—just imagine what Rogues would do to a Prime Alpha, a werewolf whose powers were only spoken of, never seen. Sadly, some two weeks later, despite the family and friends present that night promising to keep the news to themselves, it spread like wildfire in summer. And that was both the beginning and the end of my life. ***** ***** “We’ll return in a few days, a week at most,” Mum hugged me tighter as Dad loaded the last of the bags into the taxi booth. “I promise we’ll be back before you know it. Mummy doesn't lie, does she, hmm?” They were headed to check out a property overseas, somewhere we could settle without having to look over our shoulders. Somewhere safe for me. We had all grown exhausted from the attention I brought to the family. I didn't mind them going since it meant I would stay with my Uncle Seth—he was cool and very rich. Just over two hours after they left, Uncle Seth, dashing down one of the curly staircase in his mansion, a phone to his ears, screamed like I had never heard from anyone, let alone a man. I recall, with disturbing vividity, hearing the voice of agony, watching as despair danced in the air about us. Uncle Seth hit the floor before the phone did. “No, no, this isn’t true. This isn’t true. It can't be true,” he chanted, as though asking reality to correct itself. He had just heard that my parents and five-month-old sister were involved in an accident on their way to the airport. They were all blown to bits. So, yeah, this is the long answer.