Nicolas's first letter
I, Nicolas Gabriel Wolves, son of Blade and Madelyn Peterson Wolves, write this letter as an eyewitness testimony so that the world may know my story and my family's story, but especially my brother's story (Michael Wolves). I cannot conclude that he who reads these letters will have a change of heart in how they see my family, but I can find rest in knowing that our story will be told.
Three years ago my family and I went through somewhat of a drive-through to hell. I always say the biggest miracle God has ever performed in our lives was keeping us together. For we all have seen and have battled monsters in their vilest and most vicious form and have lived to tell the tale, as I am now.
I remember 3 years ago I was in the 11th grade; my life was simple. I was a rich kid in a private school called St. Patrick's College. My siblings and I grew up in Cape Town; my parents grew up in different parts of the world. My mother was born in Britain; her family migrated to South Africa when she was 10. This was in 1995, a year early in South Africa's democracy. Her family came here as missionaries, and eventually they planted churches and settled in.
My father was originally born in South Africa but was trafficked to different parts of the world, but eventually he found his way back home. 10 years later, when my mother was 19, she met my father; he was a single father to my brother Michael. From the stories my mother told us, they met when she was evangelizing somewhere in the city; she saw him carrying baby Michael and invited both of them to church.
At that time my father wasn't a Christian or religious in particular; he aligned himself more as an atheist. It was a miracle that he accepted her invitation, but perhaps it could've been my mother's beauty that lured him. She was this young white girl with ivory skin and with the longest brunette hair he had ever seen. She had piercing dark blue eyes, and her smile beamed like sun rays, which could illuminate the entire room; it must've illuminated deep into my father's lonely and broken soul.
My father was a tall, dark-brown African man who lost his roots a long time ago; without baby Michael, he was all alone. After being invited, eventually my father became a believer and married our mother, and as a byproduct of their marriage, I and my little sister Jordyn were born.
Jordyn inherited our mother's beauty, but because she was biracial, her features were slightly different from our mother's. She has long curly hair and light-brown skin, and she has big brown eyes. The one thing she did not lose from our mother was her smile.
I am a male version of Jordyn with brown eyes, light-brown skin, and a killer smile. However, my shoulders are wider, and I am taller than her, courtesy of producing more testosterone as a male, but of course, my hair isn't as long as hers.
For a time my family was happy, or at least that's what I assumed. Everything started changing when my father died in a car accident. An event that left deep wounds in each member of our family—I don't know about my family, but for me it was like someone stabbed me in my heart seven times. I could not bear even the thought of never seeing him ever again, but eventually I did.
Time, as they say, heals wounds, but I don't know if I ever healed from that; losing someone you hold dear dismantles you in ways your mind cannot comprehend. Yet still, even with the pain and anxiety, you survive, so perhaps time is able to numb our grief so much that we mistake it for healing.
We buried our father and mourned him for months. That was six years ago; all the events that led to the demonization and nearly the demolition of my family took place three years ago.
As I stated before, 3 years ago I was in the 11th grade. I had minor problems such as fighting for the captaincy of my school's football team and also fighting my academics; my mother made sure of that. I also was a teenage boy who was in love; a certain flower caught my eye. Her name was Lisa; she was all I could think about. Each chance I saw her exquisite beauty, my heart would race.
I desired her so much that my best friend, Mthobisi, would find humor in my awkwardness as I saw her and my inability to approach her.
The simplicity of life is how I would've described my life back then, but life has a sadistic way of playing out. While I was living my simplest life without any burdens so heavy to bear, someone out there was experiencing absolute hell with the weight of the world on their shoulders, all alone.
My heart broke and remains broken to this very day when I found out that that someone was my stoic and pleasant brother Michael. One of my favorite anime characters once said, 'One's reality might be another's illusion. We all live inside our own fantasies'.
I remember hearing those words but not fully understanding what they meant until I realized how true they were as I examined my life and my brother's life.
There was a time after my father's death when I believed that all our lives were good, and if not good, then at least they were progressing. My reality was an illusion, a fantasy fabricated by my brother as he hid the truth from us and protected us from everything.
To keep our fantasy world alive, he had to sacrifice everything: his happiness, his peace, his dignity, and his innocence. If there was anyone who could hide reality and cast an illusion, that would be stoic Michael. I don't presume to know his mental status back then, but if I were tasked to give a diagnosis, I would have concluded that he was living 2 different lives as 2 different people (duality).
He managed to do whatever evil he was tasked to do, but then would come back home with a huge smile on his face as though nothing had happened. All of us would see our Michael, the son and brother we all love, and perhaps the girls he abducted and the people he hurt saw a totally different side of him.
Perhaps forgiveness might be unbearable to the afflicted, but surely it is not impossible.
Jordyn's First Letter
I, Jordyn Arielle Wolves, daughter of Madelyn Peterson and Blade Wolves, write this letter as an eyewitness testimony to all the tragedies that have happened to me and my family. For a while I was relentless about writing this letter; however, my beloved convinced me otherwise. He believes that by writing these letters, it may stir a difference in the hearts of those who hate my family.
I, however, do not believe that these letters will stir anything. When people decide that you're 'the enemy' or 'the monster,' your side of the story is irrelevant; you will forever be the big bad wolf.
However, despite not seeing a difference in writing all of this, I do wish to tell my side of the story, at least I'll find closure in knowing that I had a voice and I SPOKE.
I remember four years ago when life was totally different than it is now. I was so naïve, so passionate, and so vibrant towards everyone and everything. I grew up sheltered under the confines of my two brothers, Nicolas and Michael, and of course under my sweet yet authoritative mother, Madelyn.
Daddy had passed away and had left us during that time. It had been years since he left us, and all of us had begun adjusting to our new realities. My goals back then were to excel in my academics, excel in becoming the best in my netball team, and hopefully have a lot of fun with my friends, especially with my best friend, Dian Dlamini.
Dian, who had been my best friend since the 8th grade—ever since we bonded then, we had always been close—so much so that people from our school teased us, calling us Kylie and Kendall Jenner sisters. Most people would accuse us of being friends solely because of how beautiful we were.
Though yes, I am a beautiful girl, I, however, could not equal myself to how pretty Dian was. She, in my eyes, was the cutest girl I had ever seen. She had glowy, flawless caramel skin, big brown eyes with bubble lips, and a physique like that of a model.
My bestie and I were inseparable. At that time we both had crushes on these guys from school. My crush's name was Katlego, a 10th grader like me and Dian. Dian, on the other hand, had a crush on a 12th grader named Lungelo.
Katlego (Kat) was all the talk back then. In the 10th grade, girls from our age group wanted him, and even girls from senior grades wanted him. In height he was above 6 feet, he was bronze-skinned in tone, he had a well-built muscular body that made him look like an African warrior type, and he was handsome in appearance.
At that time I could not even look at him in his eyes without melting and smiling endlessly.
This was my life back then, one of a normal teenage girl seeking a fairy tale ending with the boy she loved and a successful accomplishment of her goals. For a time it seemed as if the winds were blowing in the right direction, till they were not. I suppose I can say that indeed I received a fairy tale ending, just not a Cinderella one, but rather one grounded in reality where the monsters were not mythical creatures but rather in the appearances of men.
And such is the violent nature of monsters: they would destroy everything they come across; everyone is a victim.
The Narrator
Michael wakes up early in the morning in his bedroom; he wakes up, and his mind is flooded with thoughts. Back then he was no stranger to taking a life, and yet something rattled his conscience when taking Scorpion's life. 'Was it what he said when he cursed both me and my family? Or was I too empathetic about his inability to retrieve the woman he loved' Michael said to himself, contemplating.
He went further, contemplating his mental psyche. Who was he really? He wondered, could it be that he had begun imagining Blade? The very monster he dreaded and hated.
He woke up from his bed and decided to go out of his bedroom to go to the kitchen so he could drink a glass of water, but just as he was about to leave his bedroom. He saw the long mirror near the built-in dressing counter and gazed, the first time he saw his reflection. In disappointment he looked down in shame at the man he had become. He raised his head and looked at the mirror again, but this time he saw something, something that gave him a small fright. As he raised his head, he could've sworn that he saw a reflection of his father in his stead.
After seeing this reflection, he shook his head and covered his eyes with his hand to hopefully clear his vision. He gazed again at the mirror and saw himself as though he had seen nothing out of the ordinary before.
Eventually he went to the kitchen for his glass of water.
Later that day during midday, Michael chose to abandon his daily work as the CEO and owner of the many hotels his family owns. Hunter's Rest being the first and largest of them all, he decided to go rest his head in the hidden bunker where he would meet Ayer.
Ayer met Michael sitting specifically in the war room. "Your eminence," Ayer says whilst walking towards Michael. "I'm glad you could make it, my friend," Michael replies. "Your word is mine to keep, Sire. Any day I will always respond to your call without hesitation," Ayer responds.
Well, that's wonderful to hear, though right now I am not looking for a servant. I am in need of a friend and counselor.
"I understand. What troubles you, my king?" A lot troubles me ever since I became this; however, my current troubles are directly linked with our fallen foe, Scorpion.
"And what troubles is a fallen foe causing you?" Ayer asked him curiously and with confusion.
Before he died, he threatened me, or should I say us, saying and declaring that his brothers would avenge him.
Ayer sighs, "So this is not yet over?" I'm afraid not, Michael responds. "Could we assume that perhaps he could've been bluffing?" I don't think so; those words were his final words, words of a man seeing that death was inevitable. Why would he lie?
"Perhaps to keep you unstably paranoid of everyone around you, to stir fear in you," Ayer replied.
While that does sound plausible, I, however, am not convinced.
"Even if his threats were to come to pass and indeed his brethren attempt to avenge him, why should we fear? Do we not have an army sworn to protect the king and all his pupils?" I am asking.
You mistake my concerns for fear. Ayer, it isn't them that I fear but rather…the man before you, Michael says.
"What about the man before me?"
Before ascending the throne, I promised myself that I would uphold the burdens of that throne. It seems I was naïve enough to believe that its horrors would not affect me. Each step I take, every action I take, leads me to becoming more like him.
"Who?" Ayer asked curiously.
Blade Michael said, responding, "I see, and you wish not to follow in his footsteps?" Yes, I don't. "My late sire was indeed a vicious animal; his sheer ruthlessness and brutality earned him his stripes as the feared wolf of the south. Your grace, though I understand why you are relentless in becoming like your sire, however, it might be beneficial to be like him given the environment we occupy," Sir Ayer responded.
You would have me become the very person I hate? Michael responds, irritated. "I would have you become a beast capable of surviving harsher environments; holding on to your humanity would only multiply your suffering and would place you at a disadvantage. Stop fighting what you are becoming; embrace it!" Ayer responds to him.
And who will I be to my family, to my mother, and to my siblings?
"Anything they would imagine you to be, and even though all will be a lie, still, it is better than to have them all dying for that which they do not know."
A silence strikes the room. Michael sighs, holding his head. I suppose I cannot argue with that, he replies. Let us end this conversation before it invokes a certain fury out of me. Come, let us plan for our next abduction. "Very well, my lord," Ayer responded, sitting at the right side of the table.
Three hours later, Michael and Ayer were still plotting at the table. Out of nowhere, they both heard humming coming from the direction of the hall (the throne room). These hums they hear were clearly not from male voices but rather from females. This shook them even more considering there was no female presence in this bunker.
They both left their seats, heading straight to the hall. Now, the hall was purposefully designed in the shape of a rectangle. In the entry, if you were to gaze at the left side, you would see the throne elevated by at least 3 steps. If you were to look at the right side, you would bear witness to an eagle statue, 6 feet tall. In your entry, if you were to look straight ahead, perhaps a bit further to the right side, you would be met by a 6-foot statue of a 'vulture.' Opposite the vulture statue and across the room is another statue, but one of an 'owl,' also 6 feet tall.
These statues were idols of worship, designed for the slaves to revere their masters and the religious to worship their gods. When Michael and Ayer arrived in the throne room, they saw three women dressed in all red robes, each kneeling before one of the statues.
Their arms were wide open as a sign of submitting before these statues, and as they knelt, they were praying before these statues.
Ayer recognized them by their robes; he whispered in Michael's ear that he should go occupy his throne while he goes looking for his royal robe. This had to be done quickly before the three women were done praying; if the three women were to see Michael un-robed in his royal linen, then this would be seen as disrespect to Caesar, whom the three women represent, for it would symbolize nakedness before the Emperor.
Michael quickly sat, and a few seconds later Ayer came back with his robe and dressed him. He also gave Michael his noble rod. The rod symbolizes his authority over the liberated (his soldiers); the rod also symbolizes a master's whip over his slaves.
Finally the women rose up from their prayer; they walked towards Michael as he sat on his throne with Ayer standing beside him. Ave, Ave, Ave Lupus Rex! Ave Dominus Austri, Ave Verus Rex, Ave imago Deos. The three women said in unison.
We greet you, O son of the wolf. Greetings from the Emperor Caesar, the glorious son of our gods, the Lord of all kings,this they said in Latin. Michael also replied in Latin, saying, "We are blessed and honored to have you, O servants of my lord. What brings you here so far from home?" He asked them. We are here to relay a message from Caesar: he is pleased with all you have accomplished here and deems you worthy of praise and honor.
"The lord is rather too kind; I am simply a servant obeying what the master desires," Michael replies. Oh, but he, the Lord, rewards the faithful and punishes the disobedient; this is why he has decided to reward you with this. One of the women points at the entrance. As she pointed, two men wearing all-black suits and masks came from outside the throne room and entered carrying a golden eagle sculpture.
This sculpture was 600 mm wide and 500 mm in height; the eagle, as it stood with its wings wide open, was carved in pure gold. It stood on a firm surface made of bronze, which was 150 mm in height. The surface was drilled with pieces of blue diamonds on top of it. The two men came holding the surface on which it stood.
As they presented the sculpture, Michael was pleased; he replied, saying, Hail, Caesar. He ordered his men to take the sculpture into the war room. Just when Michael and Ayer thought the surprises were done, one of the women called forth the second and last reward Caesar had for Michael. Behold, the gift came forth, and it was a young woman in her late teens.
Michael and Ayer at the moment looked at each other, surprised at what this could mean. She first appeared veiled much like the three women, yet she was veiled in white and the three women in red.
They then commanded her to unveil herself. This was when Ayer and Michael saw her face. Behold, she was a stunning beauty, with a beige skin tone, green eyes exuding innocence, rosy cheeks, oval-shaped lips, and brunette hair as dark as coffee beans and as long as Tugela Falls.
This one is for you, Your Eminence, for you to use in any way you see fit. Caesar handpicked her from a handful of virgins just for you. Honor him by accepting her and deflowering her. One of the sisters said.
"And how old is she, if I may ask?" Michael asked as they all looked at her; she replied fearfully, "16, my lord." Upon hearing her response, Michael's forehead creased as he was rattled, agitated by the abomination they would have him do by bedding a child. He attempts to hide his anger, and he says, "Again, my lord honors me; truly, I am a blessed servant." He looks at the girl. "What is your name, girl?" Lucia is my name, my lord. She replied, stuttering, just completely frightened of Michael.
"It's good to meet you, Lucia. Well, it seems that this is now your new home. Make yourself comfortable, for no harm will befall you here. If anyone would harm you or touch you inappropriately, I, the king, will put them to death. Rest easy knowing that I will not bed you till you become of appropriate age," Michael says, looking at her.
Thank you, my lord; you are too kind, she answered, a bit relieved.
Michael smiles and turns his attention back to the three sisters. "Is this now all of the rewards the Lord has given me?" They replied, saying, "Indeed it was." Michael rose from his throne, saying, "Thank you for gracing us with your presence. I am sure due to your long travels, you are fatigued. We have rooms available for all of you to rest and enjoy our hospitality till you feel the need to leave."
Before Michael could order Ayer to prepare rooms for their guest, one of the sisters said, There is no need, my lord; we are in a hurry. Our service is needed elsewhere. So long as Caesar orders, we, the Whispers, will not rest till his commands are fulfilled. "Very well," Michael says, relieved.
Long may you reign, O Verus Rex, O Imago Deos, Lupus Rex! The sisters left.
Michael and Ayer debated among themselves on what they were going to do with Lucia until finally they decided to put her in one of the rooms upstairs; there she will stay till they figure out a proper solution.
After taking her to one of the rooms, they left her and left to go home.