The grey wolf gazed at her six newborn pups, a sudden, profound realization washing over her: nothing else mattered, not life or death, not heaven or earth.
The first five were mirrors of their heritage: bundles of charcoal-tinted fur designed to vanish into the shadows of the den. Yet the sixth emerged as a ghostly anomaly—a snow-white runt dwarfed by its kin, a glaring beacon of defiance against its grey heritage. The mother wolf inspected the eerie creature with predatory intensity, searching for a lie, yet the undeniable scent of her own blood clung to its white fur.
To fuel the six growing hungers at her belly, she was forced to hunt beyond her usual limits, preying on foxes and rabbits to keep the milk flowing. The pups couldn't eat solid meat yet, but she needed the extra food to produce enough milk. This primal struggle went on for a few weeks until the pups were old enough to feast like the carnivores they were. When the mother returned from a hunt, the pups would lick their lips, and she would regurgitate the meat for them. After two months, all but the little white wolf were fully weaned. Strangely, while the others transitioned to blood and bone, the white runt remained anchored to its mother's teat, refusing to let go of its infancy.
When the pups turned two, their mother began teaching them to hunt. She taught them to track by scent, obliterate every whisper of their passing, and the many other survival skills needed in the Endless Forest. Time passed, and the wolves became seasoned hunters, capable of living independently. Yet, they chose to stay with their loving mother, who never chased them away. The den became cramped, but the small family stayed together and was, by all accounts, happy.
With time, the pups grew as powerful as their mother, and the family became a pack. They hunted together, and their combined skills and strength allowed them to take down larger prey and expand their territory. Even with their newfound power, they didn't become arrogant. They knew that far stronger beasts roamed the forest, so they kept their territory a manageable size and avoided conflict.
Their happiness, however, was short-lived. A passing white tiger decided to claim their territory. In this emerald hellscape, the weak had no voice, and the strong had no ears. A level two nascent demonic beast, the tiger simply showed up at the wolf den one day and launched an unprovoked attack. The wolf pack was strong, but seven Level One Fearless demonic beasts were no match for a single opponent of this caliber.
The battle was hard and long, lasting the entire night. It was the night the Idyllic wolf pack came to an end. When dawn broke, the white tiger retreated into the thick forest, leaving behind three members of the pack shredded to pieces and the rest injured, with one on the brink of death.