Cold mountain air had rolled down the mountain with the setting sun- a sharp blade across the ribs of the unwary. It was more than just the air though- it was the weight of the coming moments. The promise of what the night was meant to be. A night of bounty and stories, a night of of Becoming. You were becoming Garou tonight.

The Sept Of The Light Dancers, perched closed to the shoreline of Lake Minchumina, was active tonight- more so than usual. The air here carried the scents of wood smoke and roasting meat, mingled with the tang of frost and the faint, earthy aroma of tundra moss. You can even catch the scent of smoked venison, fresh bread, and tundra berries cooking down into syrup, all blending into the icy air. Fires flickered in controlled chaos, casting long shadows against the old Sitka spruce trees that stood silent and eternal around the spring. Kinfolk and Garou worked tirelessly in the firelight, their movements precise, almost ritualistic, as they prepared for the Moot. There was a rhythm to it, a pulse, like the heartbeat of the land itself.

Every member of the sept worked in tandem. Elders exchanged works of guidance and advice to kinfolk, measured and deliberate. A few young ahroun, trying to avoid menial cooking or cleaning, hoist logs in secret competition with each other. The Den Mother and Father arranged their wards for the coming ceremonies, giving instructions, practicing, and donning any regalia needed.

The aurora, or Sky River as it was named, flows across the night sky in shades of green and purple. This was the Guardian Spirit of the Sept, you had been taught. A powerful spirit that walked the boundary between the Umbra (spirit world) and Material World. You could almost just touch it, given the reflection on the lake waters. It seemed never ending. The light pools on the glacial spring at the heart of the caern, painting its surface with colors too vivid to be real. It’s beautiful, yes, but also unsettling. The kind of beauty that carries weight, a reminder of how small you are beneath the vastness of Gaia’s creation.

Tonight was a night for the sept- but also for you. Tonight was the night your Rite Of Passage was to be initiated. Months of education from elders, bloodied nights training with mentors, all leading to this moment. You would no longer be a cub- you would be Garou. However, cub or garou, you were still expected to help out with preparation for the nights activities. Where were you that night?

Tags: @TrippyNightmare @hanzo @Vertigo

Among men, I am called Jonathan Skyes. Among The People, they call me Dark Skyes. This is my story.

Like many before me, and no doubt for many after, it begins with my First Change. The breaking point. The moment you stop being what you were and become something... other.

It was supposed to be a camping trip- just me and a few other guys from the Club. A rare chance to unwind from the rough life we lived. I was invited by someone I trusted- or was supposed to trust anyway. But that fucker, Horace, lied. About the trip. About what he really wanted. I never believed in fate. After that night though, I believed.

I don’t remember getting drugged- gagged, bound, and crucified. Those ropes were hard to forget, how they bit into my skin. Cold steel that sparkled by the light of the campfire. Blacked out faces except for his-Horace. With that shit eating grin. Looking at my damn hide like it was a fucking trophy he already claimed. Ready to carve me up.

That was the moment. The breaking point.

To be honest, thats when I blacked out. Taken by the wolf in me. I came to a freed man. Covered in blood that wasn’t my own and dazed to all hell. I didn’t bother looking to see if everyone was done it. Ran for the hills right after.

White Shadow- my mentor, found me later. He was like me. Brought me here to the Sept to learn the truth. If not for him, who knows what I’d be doing now.

--

That night, I remember being by one of the cooking fires, their warmth seeming through my T and jeans. A group of other kinfolk and myself all prepping for the different meals to be served at the moots great feast. Soft amber light danced in front of me while my gaze was focused on the potatoes that needed to be peeled. The moot was coming together well I think. Folks making the place look like natures paradise, other garou young and old working together to make sure they’ve got their pieces of the ceremonies down to a T, and somebody’s memaw with the other aunties cooking up a storm by the cooking fires. Being drilled about the apocalypse and coming of the Wyrm, it was shocking to see how hard Garou worked for their parties. Its...nice.

I focus on the potatoes I was working on. The hot starch scalding my calloused hands. It was easier then wondering on what was supposed to come later on. The Rite Of Passage. This big test to see if you actually learned anything during your ‘educating’ period. Not being able to imagine what they had in mind was daunting. It wasn’t like prospecting at all- proving yourself to a bunch of other lowlifes who thought they were tough shit. No, here you actually had something to prove. Could you fight to survive? Could you fight to defend what was important? I proved I could survive among lowly men. But this werewolf shit? Some piece of me doubted.

It wasn’t just me though. Other’s were doing their Rite’s too. Fellas I’d be making a pack with supposedly. I had...mixed feelings about em. Good and bad. I wondered where they were tonight.

Aly’s voice broke that quiet atmosphere I had going like a stray bullet through a wall of glass. Shattered. Her dragged out whine made to look like a joke or some attempt at a casual conversation starter. This was no joke though. None of it was. I don’t understand how anyone could approach this kind of situation with that attitude.

The cooking fire crackled, water simmering for the stew. I gritted my teeth while tossing my ready potatoes into it. That energy of a reckless teenage was like rubbing Styrofoam pieces together. Unnerving. I wondered if that girl was conscious enough of her actions to realize what she was actually doing. My focus stays on peeling the potatoes, trying to keep my patience in check.

“We’re not passing tonight,” I stated, voice steady but low as usual. “If you’d been paying attention to Wild Rose- really paying any attention- you’d remember that,” Continuing, I picked my words. Or tried to. Maybe my nerves were getting the better of me. “A Rite Of Passage isn’t some pop quiz you one and done, Aly. You have to prove you’re worthy of keeping. Physically, mentually- spiritually even. You can’t just be reflexes and muscles.” Maybe it wasn’t the same for everyone else. But if prospecting was something anything I could get an idea from- I could only imagine how horrible something like this for werewolves fighting a war of attrition against some cosmic force that had many faces and hands. My palm goes to my forehead. The thought alone was a weight heavier than any stone.

The silence that followed wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. I focused on the stew again, the heat from the fire licking at my skin, the scent of the spices grounding me. In moments like this, the world narrowed to what was in front of me. Stirring, simmering, waiting.



The crunch of Wild Rose’s boots on the gravel wasn’t loud, but it carried. Each step was deliberate, purposeful, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. She moved with the kind of confidence that didn’t need to announce itself, the kind that came from years of battles fought and wisdom earned. Her salt-and-pepper hair caught the flickering light of the fire, strands of silver gleaming like threads of a story half-told. She wasn’t imposing in stature, but there was weight to her presence, the unspoken promise that she could hold the world together if it started to crack.

“Jonathan. Aly,” she called, her voice cutting clean through the camp’s quiet murmur. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t have to be. Her words hung in the air, undeniable, like a gust of wind that shifted everything around it. “How’s the stew? If you’ve burnt it, you’ll be hunting and gathering until dawn to fix it.”

Wild Rose tilted her head toward the mess of firewood Aly had placed beside the fire. “Stack it properly,” she said, her tone like a blade drawn across stone—firm but not cruel. “If those logs roll into the fire, we’ll have more problems than burnt stew.”

Looking around, the mentor changed her tone while kneeling beside the two cubs. “How are you both feeling?” she asked, her tone shifting slightly. Still firm, but softer now. “Big night coming up. First step into the world as full Garou. It’s no small thing.”

Something about the Rite.
Maybe it was the nervousness.
Or perhaps the expectations of her that day that threw off her schedule so abruptly, stirring the feelings of her anxiety. Thoughts of it all preoccupied and wrecked her mind.
My life feels like a huge, shitty rollercoaster.
She was right about one thing.
Nevertheless, she rose sluggishly from her bed with a heavy sigh, lethargically preparing clothes to wear and shoving items into a messenger bag. Her empty apartment was like a quiet, unnerving reminder of her solitude. It didn't deter her. The ride to the park was the same, disheartening. Ade supposed at least something had to be different today. The caern itself was lively and bustling. It was as beautiful as it had always been, the air thick with smells of savory food and herb. The overwhelming atmosphere weighed her down moreso but she kept up with it, knowing what was ahead.
Fulfilling orders from one pack mate to another, an older lady gently requested she tend a fire to be used for food, a task she accepted with a solemn nod. While trudging over Ade caught sight of two others, who looked to be talking with Wild Rose.
Poking the fire coals dishearteningly with a stick, she seemed a little distracted. The conversing of the three drew both her attention and gaze. She wasn't too inclined to join, picking at the little cuticles left on the edge of her index in a daze.

Wild Rose turns her head from Jonathan and Aly to their third companion, still kneeling, her gaze sharp as ever, though it softened slightly when it landed on Adesina. “Adesina,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “I see you’ve found your way here. Good. Your brother and sister need another set of hands.”

She gestured toward the stew and the firewood. “Jonathan’s got his focus, but he can’t carry it all alone. And Aly’s got energy to burn, but she needs someone steady to help her channel it. You’re here now—make yourself useful.”

Rose let her eyes linger on the three for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without turning, she asked, “Where’s your wolf brother? I’ve not seen him recently.” Her tone was casual, but there was weight behind the question, a subtle thread of concern woven into her words.