Rise of the Underdogs: Jasper

Mistress Pearl

The house’s interior revealed itself to be far more expansive than its unassuming exterior suggested. Worn wooden floors, softened by the presence of hand-woven rugs, stretched beneath our feet, their surfaces illuminated gently by electric lamps placed at measured intervals along the walls. These lights cast shifting shadows, lending the space an air of quiet mystery. The porch, which in reality served as a generously sized entryway, welcomed us all without incident. A fact that left Pearl visibly startled, her expression betraying a mix of confusion and astonishment as each of us crossed the threshold with ease.

The windows and doorways – even those that were simply open arches – were adorned with sheer curtains in an array of blues, greens, and blacks. Each curtain panel bore silver-threaded symbols stitched along the outer hems, likely intended as protective charms. The subtle play of light through these veils added layers of colour and meaning to every entrance and exit, amplifying the house’s sense of safety and intention.

From somewhere deeper within the house, the inviting aroma of simmering stew, freshly baked bread, and a medley of spices and herbs drifted through the air, enveloping us in a sense of warmth and familiarity. Protective herbs, tied together with twine, hung upside down along the walls, their presence both decorative and purposeful. Meanwhile, a gentle stream of Indigenous music played softly from hidden speakers, giving the environment a unique, welcoming ambiance.

We were led into a sitting room furnished with several comfortable chairs, each draped in soft blankets and adorned with plush throw pillows. End tables, thoughtfully arranged throughout the space, were topped with crocheted doilies, flickering candles, and inviting books. On the mantle above the fireplace, a small altar stood as a quiet focal point. Despite these distinctive details, the room radiated coziness, warmth, and hospitality. Honestly, it was an ideal haven for those who arrived under the right circumstances.

As we settled into the sitting room, Andrew quietly drew me aside. In his haste, he nearly collided with a small gargoyle statuette perched on a narrow ledge, halting abruptly as his breath caught in his throat. The moment’s tension lingered in the air between us.

He turned to me, his voice low and earnest. “What do you know of Witches?” he asked.

I responded with complete honesty, not knowing what else to say. “I don’t know much. All I understand is that Witches can command any aspect of magic, since it exists in everything. They are able to draw upon its power from the depths of whatever element they choose. There were some magic users in the pack, and some hybrid wolves who inherited the powers of both their shifter and magical ancestors.

Andrew listened intently, absorbing my words. He nodded in thoughtful agreement, his hand raking through his white hair in a gesture that spoke of both anxiety and reflection. In that moment, his demeanour evoked the same courage and grace for which his great-grandfather had been known. “So you know the basics? That’s good, mostly because there is something we didn’t tell you yet.”

Feeling my temper flaring, I pushed it back. Unable and unwilling to put a divide between the tentative peace we’d cultivated. “Such as?”

Andrew’s words carried an urgency that sent an involuntary chill down my spine.

“She’s your path to the Island,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. It was clear this revelation held immense weight. He explained that those who possessed the ability to walk the boundary—individuals considered worthy of her assistance—often found themselves unsettled, left grappling with the true extent of her power.

Trying to mask my unease, I replied, “Oh? So, what kind of power does that?” My tone was casual, but the question lingered in the air.

“The power of the Pathfinder,” he murmured. I realized then that Andrew’s response was measured reverence. “It’s potentially the most disorienting thing you’ll ever face, but it will be safe. I’ve heard stories where those who can shift sometimes end up between forms. Like, I don’t even know how to explain it except to say it’s like walking as a man, but with fangs, fur, and claws. A perfect balance of both man and wolf that isn’t actually either being, but a culmination of the two halves.”

Despite his warning, I found myself sceptical. After all, much of the world remained a mystery to both me and my family. The notion of being disoriented or lost was not unfamiliar, but I refused to surrender to the uncertainty of the modern world. Deep down, I harboured a longing to explore—to seek out my Mate and discover a place where we truly belonged.

School represented one of the best forms of support we could wish for, providing us with essential medical and social care. The promise of togetherness meant that, no matter the challenges ahead, we could forge a sense of home wherever we were. As long as we remained united, the possibility of creating a welcoming, safe haven felt entirely within reach.

Lowering myself into a cross-legged position in front of the chair where the twins were anchoring Akita, I let out a sigh. Those two had been her sword and shield since she was born, so nothing they did surprised me. Glancing at Levi and River, I offered a grim, but determined smile. “We need to plan.”

“What for?” Levi asked, accepting a steaming mug from Mistress Pearl as she made her rounds with hot chocolate, coffee, and tea.

The Witch smiled. A genuine, natural curve of the mouth that touched her eyes and made the crow’s-feet at the edges crinkle slightly as her deep brown eyes shimmered with secretive intellect. “That’s a fair question, young wolf. Let’s first start with introductions, shall we? I am Pearl Hunt, Mistress of magics and the owner of the local Apothecary. Many people still count on the old ways, and I provide for their needs in exchange for my quiet existence. I already know Guilliam and Andrew, as I am rather close with Polar Bear shifters. Such a shame that it’s one of the groups slowly fading, but the heart will remember even when the mind forgets.”

“I’m Levi Stone, second-born to Alpha Aurilla and Lunar Reginald. I’m sixteen,” my brother said.

And, just like that, the room settled into a rhythm as we began a round robin of introductions. Each person, in turn, built upon the previous speaker’s words, offering not only name but our place within the family—birth order serving as a subtle marker of identity and responsibility. We each shared our names, ages, and rank, collectively adding to a growing pool of knowledge. In this way, the group acknowledged both individual identities and the interwoven roles that shaped our family’s dynamic.

Pearl nodded, “All good, then. Explain to me about this concept of Lunar? What is it exactly?”

“A male Luna,” I said. Sipping the dark chocolate from the mug in my hands, I sighed at the heat and deliciously sweet taste unlike anything I’d ever tried before. “He is the equivalent of a female co-ruler. Our people have placed women of the Stone family in the line of succession for Alpha for the last few centuries. Females are, by our standards, less like warmongers and more like protectors.”

Her dark brows shot into her hairline. “So the rumours were true.”

I nodded, “Yes. Mother was l’Alpha of Arctic Shield. Her Mate was her Lunar, but he made a fatal mistake in challenging another pack we had a treaty with. Breaking it, he only destroyed our pack from the inside rather than absorbing a smaller one.”

“And this is why your sister is the one you guard so zealously?” Pearl asked, pouring Guilliam another cup of coffee.

Akita made a noise of agreement. “I am the baby, but I’m also the only female left in Mother’s line. Jasper, what did you mean about needing to plan?”

“Work, school, integration – we have to plan for it all. We need training and modern education in order to get around without drawing attention. We have the basics, but I’d like for us to get the full experience of success through learning. Through making our own money our way while under the rule of the Alpha King and his pack.” I advised, hoping they would see the benefit over the possibility of losing our way.

“What about our heritage?” Carson asked, voicing the concern I knew all my siblings had.

Quinton scoffed, “We hold onto it. Just because we need to adapt, doesn’t mean we have to lose ourselves in the process.”

Though Quinton was often the quietest among us, his words resonated deeply, cutting through the uncertainty that lingered in the room. He reminded us that adaptation was not synonymous with erasure. Instead, we could evolve—learning and changing as life demanded—without sacrificing the core elements that defined our family and heritage.

His statement acted like a current, carrying with it the reassuring message that we, as a family, could move forward together. We were capable of navigating new challenges and environments, flowing through the passage of time like water: flexible yet steadfast and always retaining the essence of who we are. In that moment, Quinton’s truth became our anchor, affirming our collective resolve to cherish our uniqueness even as we embraced growth and transformation.

Breathing a laugh, I inclined my head to Carson. “Quinton is correct in that regard, Cars. Adaptation is not erasing who we are. It’s learning to live differently while maintaining our personal values, hopes, and dreams. Our memories are our cross to bear, our souls, thoughts, words? All of this belongs to us, but it’s how we use them that truly matters. Live with dark intent, be dispatched by the Royals. Live with good intent, be hunted. Therefore, we must thrive in shadow, building an alliance of sorts with both sides of our lives.”