Pronunciation: Veh-LOHR-uh
Meaning: "Veil of light" or "Hidden dawn."
Inspired by "veil" (something hidden, obscured) and "aurora" (a light emerging in the darkness, like the aurora borealis).
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Velora was born in a quiet, isolated pack that lived deep within a dense northern forest, under skies so thick with mist and stars that night never seemed to end. Her coat — black so deep it seemed to devour light — unsettled the others, and her piercing blue eyes seemed almost unnatural.
As a pup, Velora was sensitive to every sound, every shadow. She saw things the others could not: glimmers between trees, shapes moving just beyond the edges of reality. At first, her pack called her imaginative — but as she grew, the "visions" grew more disturbing. She spoke of wolves no one else could see, of whispers threading through the leaves, of threats that made no sense to the grounded, practical minds around her.
Their patience with her wore thin.
Was she touched by madness?
Was she a bad omen?
In a place where survival was hard-won, being different was dangerous. Fear took root in the others' hearts. Rumors spread — Velora was cursed, wrong, unsafe. Parents pulled their pups away from her; hunters glared whenever she passed.
Finally, unable to bear the creeping isolation and the whispered cruelty, Velora fled into the unknown, her mind fractured by loneliness and fear. She wandered for days, hallucinations and real threats blurring into one endless nightmare. Thin, exhausted, and wild-eyed, she collapsed near a clearing bathed in pale starlight.
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Viridra found her there.
The older wolf had seen the signs long before she drew near: the twitching ears, the frantic scent, the hollow way Velora held herself. She recognized that brokenness — not the same as her own, but familiar. Viridra knew what it was to be unwanted. She knew what it meant to carry wounds that others couldn't see.
So, she approached gently, dropping a small kill nearby without speaking, just as Vetra had once done for her.
Velora, barely lucid, lifted her head. At first, she flinched, prepared for more cruelty — but Viridra didn't sneer or scorn. She simply sat a short distance away, humming softly under her breath, letting Velora choose whether to trust her.
When Velora, shaking, finally crept closer to eat, Viridra knew she had already begun to come back to herself.
Without pushing, without pity, Viridra invited her to walk. Together, they traveled to The Apex Thread.
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Shadow, as always, asked few questions. But he saw immediately what Viridra had seen: a wolf battered by forces both internal and external, a spirit hanging on by a thread, yet still hanging on.
He gave Velora a role — not one that demanded strategy or harsh hunts, but a place among the pupsitters. Watching over the young wolves gave her grounding: a daily rhythm, soft voices, small lives that trusted her without judgment. The pups didn't see a cursed wolf. They saw someone who listened with strange, wide eyes and who could always sense when they were frightened — even before they cried out.
Over time, the constant edge of Velora's paranoia softened. The visions didn't always disappear — some nights were harder than others — but she learned they didn't have to define her. She learned she was not broken for seeing what others could not. In the Apex Thread, her strange instincts became a gift: she was sometimes the first to sense danger, the first to notice a missing pup, the first to hear the approach of strangers.
Velora, once cast out for her difference, became a quiet guardian in the heart of the pack — a veil of light protecting the next generation.
Pupsitter 
Pupsitter