"Hiroko!" Shiro whispered to get her attention. "I think I found something!" They had been looking for grandpa for three days then. He had gone missing, even in the mind link. It just wasn't like him to leave without telling them. He usually always brought Shiro along with too.

"Be quiet, Shiro!" she hushed him. Her long hair went down to her waist. It was beautiful, and she had gotten many compliments for it. Grandpa had told her that she looked just like their mother. But Shiro hadn't seen anything but pictures of her.

"There's no one here," he told her. He had scanned the area multiple times before coming out of his hiding spot. Their father had been coming in and out of this room all day. It wasn't like him. Usually, he just stayed in his office. "You need to see this."

She met him by the large doors. They were ominous and black, in an area of the house that neither of them had ever been before. He wasn't even sure if Grandpa had been there. But he had a hunch that he was through those doors.

"It's to the basement," Hiroko explained. "Father always told me never to go down here."

Shiro didn't say anything. He looked at the door, unafraid of its dark essence. He didn't care what warning it gave, he was going to figure out where his grandpa was. With that thought embedded into his mind, he walked up to the door, put his small hands on the long handle, and pulled it opened.

What he saw in the little sliver of sunlight would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"You can make this so much simpler, Shiro," his father said, his voice calm and cold. "You can end the misery, the pain. All you have to do is tell me his name."

He remained silent, as he had been for what seemed like ages now. This was a true test of his skills: to remain in control of his mind and body while his father did his worst to him. Bruises, cuts, blood. None of it could heal due to the silver chains that separated his arms and legs. They were connected to the concrete walls. The pain from the silver was nothing compared to the pain over the rest of his body.

It would pass. It would pass. As long as he stayed in control, he knew that he could make it out of this alive. For he had something that his grandfather didn't. He had more knowledge of the man that kept inflicting pain upon him.

"Why are you so afraid to speak his name, Shiro?" his father asked. He stood with his back facing him, sharpening a long sword. It was already stained in Shiro's blood from the times he had used it on him earlier. "Is it because he's that important to you? What do you think I'll do to him? I merely wanted to know a name."

Except he didn't. He wanted to find his mate so that he could torture the both of them and have them take turns watching. He knew his father too well to not know exactly what his plans were. Only, that would be if Shiro had a normal mate. If his father knew about Jett, then it would be much different. Then his father would use their bond to try and gain more power.

But all of this he kept in his mind. For his mind was his safe haven at the moment.

"You are nothing but a disgrace, Shiro!" the man hissed at him. He took the sword he was sharpening and slashed his chest again. It was so sharp that all it took was a flick of the wrist and you could get cut from it. This one was deeper than the others, too. The smell of his own blood pouring out of him was enough to make him vomit. But he had to hold back. He had to stay in control.

He wanted to scream as his father continued his assault. Some more slashes to his stomach and arms and he was feeling as if he was going to die right then. His father was putting all of his rage into that blade. He even used the butt of it to dive into his ribs, breaking them with the force of the blow. As the wounds attempted to heal, they started to burn. There was something his father had put on the blade that he used. He could smell it. It was faintly familiar.

He remained silent. He couldn't scream in agony. That would only feed into his father. That's what he wanted. He wanted to hear him beg for it to end. He wanted to hear Shiro beg for mercy, or to simply end his life already.

If there was anything he never wanted to do, it was feed into the devil that was his father.

"Grandpa!" they both raced into the room. It was surrounded by concrete. There was a table full of strange tools and vials. They smelt so disgusting. But it was the smell of blood that truly made him nauseous. It smelt just like Grandpa's blood.

He was merely a lump on the concrete floor. His long white hair didn't look as shiny as it used to. Instead, it was matted and stuck to his face. He looked like he had aged a hundred years within just the three days that he was missing. Shiro didn't even know that he was awake until he saw those dark eyes look over to him weakly.

"Shiro," he spoke so weakly. "Hiroko, you shouldn't be here."

"What happened to you?!" Hiroko brushed off the few strands of hair off his face.

"Don't worry about me," he smiled sadly at her. "You two need to get out of here. You must take my place in the pack. You must protect our people."

Another broken bone snapped him out of his thoughts. His father was showing no mercy when it came to his assault. Shiro was merely just his punching bag for him to release all his anger on.

This was the very same room in which he found his grandfather in that night. He witnessed him die right on the ground where he was chained up. That was the night that his grandfather told him the last remaining secrets that he had kept hidden from everyone for their safety. For he was only thirteen at the time, but it was then when he needed to start to lead his people already.

Anger filled him as he thought back to that night. That was the night that changed everything in this pack. That was the night when his innocence was truly taken away from him. And he could imagine what his father had done to that man, considering what he was doing to him at the moment.

"Speak, dammit!" his father spat in his face. It stung when it got in the cuts he had there. "Or are you a mute faggot, too?"

He almost wanted to laugh at that moment. For he knew that he was getting to his father by not making a noise. He would not give into the man so easily. Silence was the only revenge he could give him at the moment.

Ages passed. He had nothing he could use to tell the time. He didn't even know if it had been days. All he knew was that his body was exhausted from lack of food or sleep. He focused on sinking into his memories to survive the torture that he was being put through.

"Perhaps I'll let you think about this a little more," his father said after a while. His blood already puddled on the ground, soaking his feet with its stench. "Maybe, if you can survive the night like this, we'll see if you'll be more willing to talk then."

The heavy black doors closed with a giant thud, leaving him alone in the pain that his father had caused. This was probably how his grandfather had died as well. He only lasted three days under his father's torture methods. It seemed like he was going harder on Shiro, though. With all the blood loss, he truly wasn't sure if he could get through the night.

Pain shot through his heart at the thought of that. He didn't want to die. He still had all of his people that needed protecting. Without him, there was no telling how many of them would fall under his father's hands. He still had the thought of the party that he had planned in his mind. The one in which they could all be free in what they say and who they love.

He still had long nights to look forward to. Ones in which he had long talks about nothing and everything all at once. The ones that seemed as if they were nothing when first planned, but meant everything to him when he thought back onto them.

He still had those orange eyes to look forward to. The same ones that claimed him from the moment he saw him. Shiro wanted to wake up to that smiling face again. To curl into the warm man that was his mate. He wanted to build a home with him. One in which he could always wake up with him laying right beside him. He could close his eyes and think back on the week before so easily. It brought a smile to his face. But it also brought tears to his eyes.

What if he never got to see him again? What if this truly was the end? For not even his grandfather could escape his father's wrath, and he was the strongest that Shiro had ever known. What would become of his pack? All of the people that he considered his family. He would do anything for them. They believed in him. They trusted him to help keep them safe, even when it was from their own leader.

For once in his life, Shiro didn't know what to do. He didn't feel like there was anything he could do. The room was soundproof. The concrete all around it made it that way. And those damn black doors were too heavy to try and get through.

The silver was weakening him too much. He wished he could have found a way out earlier. Instead, he was left no choice but to let the men in black cloaks chain him to the walls and then leave him with his father. He didn't try to look at any of them. He didn't wish to know who of his pack had been forced to do this to him.

He wished his grandfather were still alive. He wished he could seek some guidance through him. For not even the moon could see him hidden in the pitch-black room. His father had left it that way when he left. It was probably a game all in of itself. The darkness loved to play tricks on the mind if you let it.

He let a single tear fall from his face. The drop hit the bare floor quietly, but he could hear it as clear as day. It reminded him of the raindrops on trees after a storm. They'd fall into the ponds with a single drop, as if to sooth the people after the chaos that was the storm.

"Listen to me, my boy," Grandpa said. His hand barely lifted to touch his face. It was so much thinner than it had been before, yet it still managed to wipe the tears away. "A tree is strong. It's not as easy to kill as any other plant. If you don't water it, then it will grow big roots that will reach the river. If you try to poison it, or pests decide to feed off from it, it has its tough bark to protect it. If you try to burn it, the water that it collects will protect it from catching a flame. And if it loses a limb, it does not care. For it will simply grow a new one.'

"A tree is helpful. It grows into a home for birds and other smaller animals. It protects them from the dangers of the forest. A tree is a source of life for all living creatures. It even takes the bad that we breathe out and turns it anew to give us all the air in which we need. But even a tree needs to be nurtured at first. Even a tree goes through a time where they must be cared for.'

"I've done all the caring I can for you, Shiro. You are still young; younger than most. But you are as sturdy as the oldest tree in which you play in. Be like that tree, my dearest child. Take all the bad around you and turn it into good.'

"And one day this forest will be yours."

Those were the last words that he ever spoke to him. Those were the words that he had taken to heart. He had listened to everything that his grandfather said, but that was the most important lesson to him. He had made it his mission to take all of the bad things that were happening and turn them into good. He protected his family. He created happiness when there was nothing but fear. He had done too much to simply lay down now.

He was sturdy, like the trees in which he lived in. He remained strong and silent for five long years. But there was something about this memory that kept popping up in his thoughts that made him fight against that quiet aloofness that he had always hid behind. There was a part of him that had been clawing it's way out since he was brought into this room. And it was slowly gaining more and more control with every slash and bruise that his father had made. He took the blows and used it to fuel this side of him.

Because not even the trees would stay silent under this.

Everything that had ever happened in these long five years flashed before his eyes. All the fear; the resentment. All the bloodcurdling screams and the pain. All of the times in which he saw his father watch in quiet amusement, as the people had no choice but to defy the moon in which had made them all.

There was one emotion that he hadn't let out in those five long years. One emotion that he had kept buried for so long. It hadn't affected him negatively in all the time that it remained buried. Because he had fed that emotion. He had agreed to letting it grow and grow with everything that he witnessed his father say or do. It was the emotion that was clawing out of him right then, ready to get used for the purpose in which he had nursed it for so long.

That was rage, and hatred. He hated his father with a burning passion. He had been his enemy since Shiro was still in the womb. He had done nothing but cause pain and suffering, and because of that, he would make sure that his father got what he deserved.

He thought he was going to scream. He thought when he finally used his voice, that it would be to bellow his rage out, to taunt his father. He would kill him as soon as he walked through those doors. Instead, a loud growl emitted from his being. One that he was sure broke through the concrete walls in which he was imprisoned.

And, for once in his life, Shiro wasn't in control. His rage was. The beast took over his body, it's strength enough to break the chains off the walls. As soon as he was freed, he slammed into those large doors, hungry for the blood of a man who had never spilt any.

There were two guards by the door, neither of them expecting him. He saw how wide their eyes got as they looked at him. He couldn't recognize them, though. All he knew was that they were enemies.

Before they could even shift, he attacked. Using the chains that were still attached to his wrists, he whipped one on the face, making them fall face first on the ground. The other one had been able to shift. He put the chain in front of him before the wolf could bite. As soon as he got the chain in the dog's mouth, it yelped. He twisted it around so that it would stay a little more before kicking him into a tree. The wolf immediately shifted back into a human, unconscious.

He didn't want to fight these men. They were just the grunts. What he wanted was the one who had caused him so much pain in the first place. Shiro growled again as he turned to the house. He could smell his scent in there. The doors led to the outside, but he now realized that he needed to get inside.

Run! He heard the wind whisper to him. He looked to see the black trees in which he had ran in all his life. It beckoned him. But why would he run now? He had finally gotten the strength to be in control.

Follow! It whispered again, blowing into the leaves. The fog rolled out of the forest, as if to put out it's hands for him to take. Danger!

He knew that there was danger. But he wished to finally gain his title. He wanted the blood of that man pouring onto the ground. That's what the Spirit of the Moon wanted too. He knew that for a fact. Her light shined onto him, helping him see in the shadows that surrounded him. But it also shined on the fog, making it look like it was glowing. It was glowing. It was beckoning him once more to come towards it rather than the place in which his revenge was to be fed.

He didn't have much time. There was only so much time before more of those grunts would come and try to fight him off. He looked down at the body in which he had control over now. It was not weak, but it was bleeding. He hated the thought of waiting. That's what he had been doing for five long years. But he needed to heal if he was going to get his revenge.

Follow! The trees echoed out to him. They wanted to protect him. They wanted to help him. He could not trust anyone or anything at the moment, but he could trust the trees, for it was they who had believed in him from the very start.

With another loud growl, he listened to the forest's advice. He would follow it until he had healed.

Then he would be back for revenge.