The Alpha's Sierra

Chapter 1 - Sierrans

Alexander

The heart of the Sierra is cold, but I've learned, my heart is colder.

The summer is coming to an end. Soon, the nights will start to drag on longer. The sun will feel shorter and sparce. The snow will fall harder, and the winds will be sharper. I'll watch as every animal in my mountains submits to their instincts.

While the squirrels in the forests disappear into their trees, the bears burrow themselves into their snow and caves, or even how the birds migrate to warmer climates, we stay. Wolves do not hibernate. We remain together, as a pack. Helping one another to push through even the coldest of winters.

This is our land, and it has been for centuries. Long before the King's Throne moved west to the Island. Before anyone knew this was a "New World." We were here. We have been here the longest.

Wolves do not shy away from the cold. We do not leave. But we must be led.

Only the strongest of the pack leads.

***

My home is at the top of one of our mountains. It overlooks the entirety of the Sierra. The Sierra is not one mountain, but several. A range with different towns that each have  different specialty or purpose.

The peak of my mountain, however, looks over my town. The central hub and heart of our mountains. We call it the Sál—soul. It's a little village, surrounded by forests. For a long time, we used to be log houses and cabins. A few of the homes still have that traditional warmth around them. It was my father, however, who started to modernize, and I continued the advancements.

Now, most of our buildings are modern and sleek. Every time my friends come to visit, they like to compare it to a Swiss resort or ski lounge. Aesthetically, I like how it looks from my home and from the sky. The glass glistens under the sunlight and sparkles like melting ice. 

We have a small lake—a very small lake. It doesn't serve much of a purpose except for our ice skaters and hockey players. Or to learn how to scuba dive in the summer before adventuring elsewhere. Our main fishing grounds are in the Fjord. Just south of the Sál.

Off towards the horizon, I can only see the snowcapped peaks of my Sierra. On a clear day, they go as far as the eye can see. Most days, when it's misty with clouds, everything is blanketed in white and gray.

"You're deep in thought." Bianca asks as soon as she walks onto my outdoor deck.

I barely move my head in her direction. She knows better than to bother me but that's what an older sister is for after all.

She jumps up to sit on the railing. Her legs and feet dangling over towards the mountainside. This drop would kill her, but I also know better than to pester her with something so obvious.

Her gaze looks up at the sky, a light breeze tugging at a few strands of her hair that aren't pulled back into her usual braid. She's in her training gear—a tight, fitted white material that's slightly dirty with streaks of red.

When she trains her legion, she likes to wear the white gear as it shows off the blood she's collected from the sparring and fights she's had to endure whenever challenged. I completely understand and relate.

The black gear is reserved for battles and moments of absolute respect. It was a gift to her that I coerced our most elite to give. Besides, Bianca needed something that distinguished her as an authority. As my co-Beta and general, I wanted her to have something that commanded respect.

For a few moments, we say nothing. We both find peace in silence. Although, if there's one person she always feels comfortable speaking to, that's me.

We look out together at our home. Bianca isn't a warm person. She never has been. We originally thought our coldness ran through our veins, through the Fenmont line, but then Montgomery grew up. And we realized it's just us two. That maybe our memories are what truly casts the shadows.