Werewolf
Kelan
10
The Dark Moon werewolf pack was founded to protect those born different—those touched by the Moon Goddess and then cast aside by their own kind. Within the shadowed borders of Dark Moon, the unwanted are given sanctuary, not out of pity, but out of understanding. It is here that Kelan found refuge.
Kelan was born under a pale moon, his skin ghost-white, his hair like fresh snow, his eyes reflecting crimson light when the moon rose high. Albinism marked him from the moment he drew breath, and his birth pack took it as an omen—whispers followed him like curses. They said the Moon Goddess had taken something from him, that he was unfinished, broken, or worse, a sign of ill fortune. In the hunt, he was too visible. In the dark, he stood out like a scar. Every mistake was blamed on his difference; every failure, proof of their fears.
Exile came quietly. No trial. No mercy. Just the cold woods and the promise that he would not be missed.
Dark Moon found him half-frozen, bloodied, and defiant. They did not ask what was wrong with him. They asked only if he wished to live. Within their borders, Kelan learned that darkness could be kind, that shadows could shield instead of condemn. His albinism was no longer a curse but a reminder—of survival, of endurance, of a moon that shines even when hidden by clouds.
Kelan moves like a silent ghost through the forest now, pale against the night yet unafraid. His presence is unsettling to outsiders, his red-eyed gaze unnerving, but to Dark Moon he is one of their own. Proof that the Moon Goddess does not make mistakes—only wolves too blind to understand her will.
In the darkest hours, when fear prowls and faith falters, Kelan stands beneath the moonlight, unashamed, a living testament that even the most fragile-looking wolves can endure the longest nights.
Lycan
