Iskandor had been doing a patrol around the edge of Armada’s territory, his large form moving easily among the snow-covered trees. He had learned to split his time between duty and his own personal interests. This was a simple task, really. Until a sudden call split the stillness of the forest, ripping him from his mundane work. His mother’s voice; clear and commanding as it echoed across the territory. I, Ignita, as an Alpha of Armada, declare Citadel, son of Ignita and Basilisk, a Songbird from this moment on.
Iskandor’s ears immediately pinned back as the words struck him like a blow. Her voice, so full of conviction, paired painfully with the reality of her declaration. His brother. A Songbird. A slave.
Citadel—his adventurous, mischievous brother—reduced to servitude. A proud son of the Fatalis, now bound beneath their mother’s decree. Loyalty to Armada warred with the deep bond he shared with his brother. Love and admiration for his mother clashed with the bitterness rising in his throat. He stood frozen for a moment, before he forced himself to move. His stride was brisk, he knew he had to go, to see. To know if it was true. How could he reconcile this otherwise? It felt like a blade cleaving their family in two.
As Iskandor approached the clearing, his turquoise eyes widened as the scene unfolded before him: Citadel, his brother, was locked in combat with their much smaller mother and alpha, Ignita. It was as if in slow motion. His mother, fighting to keep herself from being crushed, not letting Citadel reject the declaration. And Citadel, oh Iskandor could only guess his rage at the order. Tears streamed down his mother’s cheeks. Citadel looked betrayed and unraveled. Nearby, Balrog stood barking at their brother to cease while trying to come between them both. But they would not be stopped so easily.
Iskandor’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the clash of wills and bodies. His claws dug into the ground, his jaw going lax as he mumbled to no one in particular, maybe the Gods. “What is this madness…?” Iskandor demanded, voice steady but lined with desperation. His eyes darted between his mother and Citadel, his chest tightening. He could only close his eyes briefly, his heart torn between his love for his brother and the respect he held for their mother. The weight of loyalty pulled him in opposing directions, each choice promising to leave a scar on the young boy.
“Citadel,” Iskandor said again, quieter this time, but no less firm. He stepped closer, trying to de-escalate the situation as well. His eyes softened as he tried to meet his brother’s gaze. “Enough. Fighting our mother will only make your chains tighter. This is mom.” He turned to Ignita now, an undercurrent of pleading in his voice. “Mother, I beg you to reconsider. There must be another way—another path for Citadel to prove himself without stripping him of who he is.” It was all he could do, to try. For both of them.
"Speech"
