The girls showed me around our dorm. It was more like a micro home with a small kitchen, a big sitting room and three mini bedrooms. The girls had taken the liberty to repaint the entire dorm in the most devastating color they could have pulled, pink.

Not that I expected any less or more from an elf, and a fae. Thankfully, they left my room unpainted, and I was welcomed with the calming aura of light lilac walls when I walked in. I dropped my bags onto the hardwood floor of my new dorm room, the thud echoing faintly in the small space.

Exhaustion clung to me like a second skin, every muscle aching from the long journey from Hatchville

Without a second thought, I collapsed face-first onto the bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. The pillow smelled faintly of lavender and starch, and I let out a muffled groan, willing my body to melt into the sheets and disappear into sleep.

I barely rested for a number of minutes before my door creaked open, I cursed under my breath and raised my head to see Ferna at my door, carrying a white bowl with beautiful blue markings around it. She stepped inside, her dark curls bouncing with each step, the steam from the bowl curling upward into the air. The rich aroma of herbs and broth hit me, and my stomach growled despite my confusion.

"What's this?" I asked, my voice rough with fatigue as I sat up fully, eyeing the bowl warily.

She grinned. "Soup."

"I can see that," I muttered. "Why?"

Her smile widened, showing just enough teeth to be concerning. "Because you look like you haven't eaten in a century. And before you start, relax, it's not poisoned."

My cheeks flushed, and I opened my mouth to protest, to insist I wasn't that paranoid. "I wasn't-"

"You were, and it's okay," she said, her tone softening. "I see the distrust in your eyes, and I don't blame you. It's the way of our kind, is it not? Everyone betrays everyone eventually."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I swallowed, my throat tight, and managed a small nod. Ferna's gaze held mine for a moment, understanding passing between us. Then she set the bowl on the nightstand and offered a warm, sweet smile. I couldn't help but return it, just a little.

Our kind never really got along with the other realms. Hell, we didn't even get along with each other, the Lycans hated the werewolves, the Lycans and werewolves hated the Wyseathes, every one hated the blood moon wolves, and all of us were hated by the other realms, seen as rabid dogs. It was a mess even within ourselves, I couldn't blame her if she hated me, and she could not blame me for being wary, such was our position.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't mention it. Eat, rest. Tomorrow's your first day of dying slowly."

"Wow, that's comforting," I muttered, taking the spoon.

"Do you need help unpacking?" she asked. "You will have a busy day, and if you don't organize now-"

I shook my head, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I'm fine. Just... need to crash for a bit."

Ferna studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't offer."

Then she surprised me by stepping forward and wrapping me in a quick, gentle hug. "Get some rest, then," she said before turning and slipping out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I stared at the bowl of soup for a long moment before resigning myself to the bed once more, the warmth of Ferna's gesture lingering like the steam rising from the broth. Sleep claimed me before I even realized I had closed my eyes.

___________

The next morning, I was up before dawn, the sky outside my window still a bruised shade of purple. I dressed quietly, pulling on running gear, a simple shirt and joggers, and tied my hair into a loose ponytail. Old habits from Hatchville, where I would start every day with a run through the misty fields. As I laced up my shoes, I heard the faint creak of floorboards and glanced up to see Elsie poking her head out of her room, her blonde hair a messy halo around her face.

"Rosalind? Where are you going so early?" she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Morning! I'm going for a run," I said. "I usually run every day back home in Hatchville."

Elsie frowned, stepping fully into the hallway. "Don't exhaust yourself. Training's in an hour, and you still need to pick up your uniform from the counselor."

I paused, her words sinking in. "Right. Thanks for the heads-up. Where is that again? I mean the counselor."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Main administrative quarters, general counseling office. You can't miss it."

"Got it."

I grabbed my student pass, thanked her, and headed out, the cool morning air biting at my skin as I made my way across the grounds. The administrative quarters loomed ahead, a stone building with arched windows and ivy creeping up its walls. Inside, the general counseling office was easy to find, its door marked with a simple brass plaque.

Inside the office, a woman sat behind a heavy oak desk, writing in a ledger. Her hair was silver-gray, twisted into a tight bun. Her pointed ears told me she was elven, and the faint scars across her knuckles said she had lived long enough to know her way around a sword and a thousand ways to manipulate the earth's core-at least a century old, maybe more.

She didn't look up as I entered, her pen scratching across a notebook.

"Sit," she said, her voice clipped.

I slid into the chair across from her, folding my hands in my lap. She finally glanced up, her sharp blue eyes studying me over the rim of her glasses. "Name?"

"Rosalind Rougeworth," I said.

"Major?"

"Combat and war strategy."

She froze, her pen hovering over the page. Then she set it down deliberately, adjusted her glasses, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Combat and war strategy," she repeated, her tone dripping with exasperation. "I'm getting too old for this. You kids drive me up the wall. I am so tired of all you little girls and your silly crushes on that captain. Every year, it's the same."

I blinked, genuinely confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

She waved a hand, muttering to herself as she stood and disappeared through a door behind her desk. I sat there, dumbfounded, trying to process her words. A crush? On the captain? I didn't even know who he was. What was she even talking about?

She handed them over with a weary wave. "These are yours. Use them religiously. You won't need them long anyway."

I frowned. "Why's that?"

"Because in two weeks, you'll be back here begging for another assignment. Happens every year."

I wanted to tell her that would not be me, but there was no point. I was fine with her thinking I was just another naive girl with a crush.

I took the uniforms, my confusion deepening. "Thank you," I said, because it seemed like the only appropriate response, and left the office, my mind spinning.

Back at the dorm, I found Ferna and Elsie in the common area, dressed in their own uniforms. Elsie had silver, and Ferna had bright red, vibrant against the muted ones I held in my hands. They looked up as I entered, and Elsie gave a tired smile.

"Wait, why are you getting different colors?" I asked, holding up my uniforms.

Ferna grinned. "Different majors, different colors. Elsie gets silver because she is in the Healing department, and I wear red because I'm in Elements Mastery."

Elsie nodded. "You'll have your general training first, then majors separate. Hurry or you'll be late."

I ducked into my room and changed quickly. The black uniform fit like it had been stitched to my skin-tight, structured, highlighting every curve I didn't particularly want highlighted. The fabric clung to my hips and shoulders, and the high collar gave me an edge that made me look sharper than I felt.

I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, checking my reflection briefly before stepping out.

When I stepped back into the room, both girls froze mid-conversation.

"Stars above," Ferna whispered. "You're in combat and war strategy?"

I nodded, tugging my gloves on, shifting uncomfortably under their stares.

Elsie gasped, grabbing Ferna's arm. "She's so lucky! She gets to see the Captain every day. He's so hot."

I blinked. "The Captain?"

That captain yet again, the same one I was accused of having a crush on just minutes ago. I see why Mrs Grumpy called me a silly girl with a crush, Elsie was totally acting silly like a kid who just discovered candy.

Ferna sighed dreamily. " Captain of the Combat Division. You'll know him when you see him. Trust me."

I rolled my eyes. "Right. Let's just get to training before we're late."

But they didn't stop. Not for a single step on the way there.

Elsie chattered about his skill in battle, how no one could match his strength or his precision. Ferna added details that made it sound more like she had been daydreaming about him than observing his technique.

By the time we reached the training grounds, I was half amused, half exasperated. The morning sun was just cresting over the courtyard, catching on steel blades and glinting armor. Some students already stood in formation, divided by division colors, all murmuring with nervous excitement. Some students were warming up and their instructors were barking orders.

I was laughing at something Ferna said when Elsie grabbed my arm, her nails digging in as she pointed excitedly. "Look! There he is! The captain!"

I followed her gaze, expecting some generic, over-hyped warrior. Instead, my eyes landed on a figure I had not seen in four years, one I thought I would see again, one day. My heart stuttered, and the laughter died in my throat.

Gray eyes, blonde hair. The same boy who had brought my brother's body home. The one I had seen through my tears, standing in the blood-soaked dirt, eyes cold as winter. The one I had sworn to kill.

Aklan Draven.

The Captain.

My heartbeat stumbled painfully.

He looked older now-sharper jaw, broader shoulders, a quiet authority that made everyone around him seem smaller. But those eyes were the same. Storm-gray. Empty.

Elsie was still whispering something beside me, but I didn't hear her.

Because in that moment, with the sunlight striking his profile, the ground beneath me might as well have disappeared. It felt like a distant dream, yet I could taste it, the vengeance.

After four years, fate had done it.

It had put me in front of the man I hated most in the world. Rage blinded me, and all I wanted to do was drive a dagger into his chest, the same way he had done to Rivan. Blood rushed to my ears, and my thoughts aligned in just one way.

Maybe the moon goddess did not listen to the prayers of the helpless, but she did listen to the prayers of the vengeful and she had brought my enemy right into my orbit.

I could not make myself look away, could not tear my eyes away from him, not daring to blink. He was there-solid, terrible, breathing, and every grain of me tuned itself to the slow rise and fall of his chest like it was the only thing left that mattered.

I didn't dare blink, as if the moment my lids closed, he might be gone, and everything that had kept me alive for the last four years would evaporate with him.

Elsie giggled beside me, nudging Ferna. "See? I knew she would fall in love with him the second she saw him. One look and she's done."

Ferna chuckled, but her voice was low, almost wary. "That's not the look of someone in love, Elsie. That's the look of someone about to set him on fire."

I wanted to tell them both to shut up. I tried to tell them that love had nothing to do with the brittle tightness in my ribs, the way my teeth suddenly felt too loud behind my closed mouth. I wanted to tell them the truth: the heat in my chest was not tenderness. It was a volcanic thing, at once grief and anger and a cold, beautiful hunger for justice.

I didn't say anything because telling them risked me looking like a lunatic or worse, healing something in me that I didn't want healed, not until I got my deserved revenge. He snuffed out the light in my life four years ago, and now he was going to feel my wrath, the full extent of it.

I barely registered the chatter around me, my gaze locked on Aklan as he stood at the front of the training grounds, his presence commanding despite the casual way he leaned against a wooden post.

A whistle blew, sharp and piercing, and the chatter around us died instantly as students flowed into formation. Ferna and Elsie hurried off to join their majors, leaving me standing alone on the edge of the training ground like a stone as it fell, as silent as a graveyard.

The commander, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward and began a welcome speech for the new students. His words washed over me, meaningless noise against the roar of my pulse. He mentioned that official training had begun, wished us luck, and then introduced the captain, gesturing to Aklan. The reins were handed over, then he bowed and stepped back to place the world in Aklan Draven's hands. 

Aklan stepped forward, his voice carrying across the field with a confidence that made my stomach churn, the sound of his voice the way someone hears a bell ringing through storm glass... distorted, distant, gut-wrenching, and terrible all at once. The words washed over me, meaningless and thin. 

My eyes were fixed on him, every detail sharpening the rage that clawed at my chest. I did not listen, I could not listen. I only watched. He stood, a carved thing in uniform, and the memory of my brother's lifeless body came like a hot sting behind my eyes. Those same grey eyes, that same careless calm, the same merciless gaze.

The hatred I had kept hidden in my heart for years surged higher, threatening to spill over. How could he stand there, so smug, so alive, when my brother lay cold in the dirt?

When I realized the students were running laps and my feet had not moved, a thread of shame prickled at the back of my neck. Everyone around me was already in motion, their footsteps a distant rhythm, but I stood rooted to my spot, my eyes never wavering from Aklan, like a tree refusing to be felled, focused entirely on the man who had taken Rivan from me.

 He noticed me then, his brow furrowing as he crossed the field, his strides purposeful. 

He stopped in front of me, bending slightly to meet my gaze and asked, plain as a blade, "Are you all right?"

I looked him dead in the eye, praying for a blade of some sort to manifest in my hands so I could drive it straight into the heart of this smug bastard and save myself the torture of waiting till I was stronger.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his voice low, almost concerned.

My breath hitched. I tasted iron and old winter and the memory of broken things. He had the audacity to ask if I was okay while my brother lay in the dirt. He got to breathe, to stand here and play the hero while I suffered every single day for the past four years.

My fingers tightened onto the latex gloves I had worn until they bit into my palm.

Aklan tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "Join the others," he said, his tone turning stern when I didn't move. "Now."

I did not move.

"What are you standing there for, wolfling? I said Join your peers"

Wolfling? Did he just call me a wolfling?

I would show him what a wolfling can do, a Hatchville wolfling who would not bend or break for any man, so I stayed, my eyes never leaving his, defiance oozing from my pores, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

He straightened, his patience visibly thinning, his eyes tracing my face.

"Follow me," he ordered, and there was no mistaking the authority behind it. He turned and walked briskly toward a private hall-arched stone, heavy doors that whispered with history.

I followed because I had no other choice. After all, my pride was little, and my purpose was larger, because if I wanted to stand on the same ground as him and not fall to my knees in a puddle of useless revenge, I needed to learn how the world bent.

When the doors shut behind us, he stopped and turned, face blank as a slate. He cocked his head with the faintest hint of irritation.

"Do you have a hearing problem, wolfling?" he asked, straight-faced, and before I could answer, he muttered to himself, "If you were deaf, you probably wouldn't even hear me anyway."

I heard that, of course, I could not miss it. I could hear to every thin, cutting thing he said and save them away like teeth. I let my gaze form a sterner look that looked like death itself.

He studied me with a look that was almost amused, and then more sharp curiosity.

"Have we met before?" he asked. "You're staring at me like we have a problem, and you are one second away from pulling my guts out."

 Perhaps I am you dim witted murderer.

My chest burned with the promise of it, one day pulling his guts out and sticking the dagger in his chest, the same one I had pulled out of Rivan and kept all these years.

He blinked, and for the first time his eyes lingered on me like he was cataloguing evidence. A deathly smirk curled my lips, and his expression shifted, he knew I could hear him. 

"If you can hear me, then is the problem speaking? Can you not speak" he pressed, his tone sharp, eyes searching mine.

I stayed silent, watching him fume in frustration and before he could sharpen whatever retort he had been composing, a dark-haired man around the same age as him, with amber eyes pushed through the hall, just as smug as Aklan was and grinned at us like we had been in on a private joke.

"Your pants are ripped," the boy said loudly, brow arched in faux concern.

I felt heat flood my face. "What?"

The boy smirked at Aklan. "There you go, she speaks Aklan. How could you not know that? She was toying with you."

Aklan narrowed his eyes at me, the look like a steel trap snapping closed. He peered down at my uniform with a brief, dismissive glance, then back up, voice flat and lethal. "Combat and war strategy. That means you're my headache."

I could feel the press of dozens of pairs of eyes outside the hall, waiting to see what the Captain would do with the insolent new wolf. He didn't smile. He did not offer the patronizing mercy so many did when confronted with a trembling recruit. Instead, he folded his hands and gave me the kind of sentence that would have my father up at night.

"You'll be at the training ground by nine tonight," he said. "Before curfew. You will be serving your punishment. You're late? You're dead."

Punishment.

For what? For daring to breathe in a space he occupied? For surviving? For daring to hate?

He turned on his heel and walked away as if the exchange had been routine. The amber-eyed boy trailed behind muttering something about me being odd, and the sound made my skin prickle.

My nails dug into the palm of my hand until I tasted metal.

I wanted to reach for him, I wanted to grab his throat with both hands, to drag his eyes to mine and make him see the shape of the grief he had created. I wanted to tear the captain's crest from his chest and watch it fall in pieces at my feet.

But I didn't, I couldn't. I stood there with my fists clenched, lungs burning, while the rage roared inside me like a caged wolf. I was not strong enough, not yet. It was the truth, and it was a bitter stone in my mouth.

I swallowed that truth down and let it sit heavy in my chest. For now, there were rules, there was training. For now, the blade of my patience had to be sharpened by hours and iron until I could wield it. Until then, I would learn, I would wait, I would grow until the day I no longer had to imagine ending him, and I could do it for real.

The assignment echoed in my ears as the hall emptied and normality reasserted itself. Nine tonight, I would serve punishment, the word tasted like nails on glass.

I breathed in. I mapped the curve of the training ground in my head-the barricades, the dummies, the course that would become the gauge of my worth. I would be there, I would get better. Every punishment was only making me better, making me his equal. Closer and closer till I could fulfill my promise.