"Alphas had harems back then?" Sous asked herself as she flipped through the pages of the diary.
I begin this entry with a mind that refuses to be still. I thought that by putting pen to page I might find a rhythm, a tether that keeps my thoughts from spinning outward, but the truth refuses to soften.
The Alphas of Apex have aligned themselves with a witch in Vania. The news reached me in a manner that felt almost theatrical, as if the universe wanted to see whether I would laugh or break something. Instead, I felt only a long ripple of cold recognition. There are cycles in this world, and Apex is determined to repeat all of them.
I have tried to understand what would drive them to a witch from that region. Vania has always held an air of concealed hunger, the kind of place where a smile is an invitation and a warning. The witches there do not study restraint. They practice expansion. They reach for everything until their palms bruise with the strain of too many stolen things.
If Apex believes they can use her, they have forgotten that witches from Vania do not form alliances, no witch does. They create dependencies. Then they exploit them.
When I imagine this woman, I picture someone who carries her power like jewelry. Not subtle pieces, not hidden tools. She would wear it so boldly that even the untrained would sense a danger humming beneath her posture.
Every gesture would be calculated to show she was above needing to raise her voice. If Apex has chosen her as their tether, they are abandoning what little wisdom they once possessed.
I suppose I should not be surprised. Apex has always been drawn to displays of power without recognizing the price that comes later. They want force. They want advantage. They want shortcuts toward crowns they believe belong to them.
A witch from Vania can offer exactly that, and she will enjoy watching them scramble to keep up with whatever games she sets in motion.
Yet what unsettles me most is not that they aligned with her. It is that they sought someone who is outside their world entirely. Witches and wolves rarely mix unless something desperate has begun to rot beneath the surface.
Alliances built on fear or ambition rarely hold, but they always create consequences. I can feel the shape of those consequences already forming.
I keep thinking back to my own time leading Apex after that fierce battle. The memory tastes like iron and burned wood.
I ruled because they needed someone brutal enough to make them behave, and I fit that mold without complaint. The pack responded to strength. They respected clarity. They wanted results. I provided all of that, and more, until even my shadow carried authority. So why would they now surrender themselves to a stranger's charm?
The answer unsettles me. They are searching for something that resembles me, or perhaps something that opposes me. Maybe their pride has been shaken since I'm a witch. Either way, their reasoning is not born from stability. It is born from longing. Longing often constructs dangerous architecture.
My instinct tells me this Vania witch is manipulating them with the promise of altering their future, reshaping their hierarchy, even amplifying their abilities.
Witches there have a tradition of meddling with power structures. They whisper ideas about evolution and transformation, using words that feel like prophecy but function like bait. Some wolves fall for it because they want to believe they are destined for something greater than ordinary strength.
I should not find this amusing, but part of me does. Apex has chosen to place their fate in the hands of someone who likely views them as stepping stones. Her magic will feel intoxicating at first. She will speak about opportunity, unity, renewal. They will hear triumph. They will hear their own names echoed back with admiration. It will be the beginning of their collapse.
I tell myself I should not interfere. They are no longer my responsibility. I am no longer their ruler, no longer the force keeping them from tearing themselves apart.
I shed that role with intention. I walked away because I earned the right to exist for reasons beyond leadership. Yet here I am, writing about them as though I still feel that tug in my chest whenever their name is mentioned.
I do not miss the burden of commanding them. I do not miss the endless need for vigilance, but I remember what they were capable of before foolishness poisoned their core. They could have been something far different. I tried to lead them toward that possibility. I offered discipline, structure, and vision.
Perhaps I should not be disappointed that they now drift toward someone who can ruin everything I once reinforced, but disappointment blooms anyway.
The witch they chose must be powerful. Perhaps not in the way I am, but in her own domain. Power, even when dressed differently, always has a signature. I can sense the tremor of her influence from afar, as if her intentions leave a trail across the fabric of the world. She is not hiding. She wants to be noticed. That alone is enough to concern me.
I wonder what she seeks. No witch in Vania does anything without a purpose sculpted from multiple layers. Whatever she promised Apex is only the surface.
The real desire will be something deeper, darker, and wrapped in a logic that only she understands. I want to see her. I want to examine the movements of her hands, the cadence of her words, the way her eyes shift when someone disagrees with her.
A witch reveals more in silence than in speech. I would recognize her motivations with only a few moments of observation.
Perhaps that is why this news has carved its way into my thoughts. I feel a challenge in the distance, not a battle. Something more intricate. A test of perception. A question of who understands power more intimately.
She is playing with Apex, and she believes no one is watching.
Part of me wants to laugh at the arrogance. Part of me wants to confront her and see if she maintains that confidence when she realizes her actions have been observed by someone unwilling to be ignored, but confrontation for its own sake is wasteful.
I will not act until I understand what she wants.
Still, there is something building beneath the surface of all this. Apex shifting toward Vania. A witch reaching outward. A chain of decisions that cannot be undone. If they believe they can control her, they should prepare to learn the true meaning of imbalance.
I know what happens when a wolf tries to command power they were never meant to wield. I have seen it; I have caused it. I understand the cost better than any of them.
I write all of this not because I doubt my ability to respond, but because I must choose whether I want to become involved at all. My life now is carved from freedom, not obligation. Yet sometimes fate curls its finger and beckons, reminding me that some legacies are not easily abandoned.
I will continue to document what I learn. If Apex believes they can stride into Vania guided by a witch who sees them as a means to an end, they are misjudging the rules of this world.
The worst part...I think...I think I know this witch of Vania.