Ariya Froste knelt in the cold dirt, her hands tied behind her back, her lips trembling.

Her husband, Sergius was standing and staring daggers at her.

"I swear, I don't know where she is." she whispered for the fifth time.

Seragio stood above her - tall, sharp-jawed, eyes wild with fury. A coat of furs hung on his shoulders like the hide of something he'd conquered. His voice was low, but it bled violence.

"You think I'm a fool?"

"No no, please...." Ariya choked, her knees scraping the rocky ground as she shifted. "I swear by the Moon. I don't know where she ran to. I haven't seen her since dusk!"

"She's your daughter." Seragio snarled. "You'd feel her if she bled. You'd sense her if she fell.."

Ariya's breath caught.

He stepped forward, boots crunching on autumned leaves.

"The Witch." he spat. "The little swamp-girl."

He gripped Ariya's chin, digging his fingers in, forcing her face up. Her eyes shimmered with tears - not of pain, but of regret.

"Do what you must." She whispered. "But leave Mia out of this."

Seragio's smile was slow. Cold.

"Oh, I intend to do exactly what I must."

He pushed her back to sit.

"Lock her up," he commanded the wolves flanking him. "If she makes one sound about blood or bond, muzzle her."

Two males stepped forward and dragged Ariya away.

She tried to beg.

Sergius turned, inhaled deeply and let out a low growl that sent a flock of birds screaming and flying off from the trees.

"Find her." He said to the dark. "Find the girl. Bring her to me."

★★★

★★★

The summoning ring was scorched.

The stone altar had cracked from the heat of the spell.

And Mia was unconscious.

Her body lay curled at the edge of the summoning ring, cloak soaked with sweat, fingers twitching like they were still weaving spells in her dreams.

A faint glow pulsed from beneath her - the herbs she'd used reacting to the strain of magic that bent time and memory and forged a fake prince out of nothing.

Tiny spirits fluttered around her body in forms of candlelight moths, whispering with concern.

"She bent too far."

"She risked too much."

"She will fade."

"No." one whispered. "She only needs time."

And outside the cave, the wind shifted eastward, toward Ashmoore's gates.

Toward Elowyn.

★★★

★★★

Elowyn sat alone on the small settee in her room, her body tense, her hands clasped over the sealed academy parcel resting on her lap.

The package was thick. Tied with a silver cord. The Academy's insignia - a wolf's head wreathed in thorned laurel - glared up at her like it was warning her not to open it.

But she had to.

She undid the knot carefully and slowly. Every thread she pulled felt like she was unraveling herself too.

The first thing inside was the uniform.

Three folded tunics. All deep charcoal grey, with heavy collars and a silver-stitched crest on the chest. Alpha crest. No room for mistakes.

The trousers were stiff, thick with reinforced seams. Combat-grade. Made for someone far more muscular than she was. Her breath hitched.

She ran her fingers over the insignia, her fake clan name embroidered beneath it in sharp, clean thread.

Elyan Froste. Draven Lineage.

The name didn't feel like hers. Not really. But it had to be now.

She moved aside the clothes and picked up a tightly rolled scroll - her combat schedule.

It read:

ASHMOORE'S TRAINING ACADEMY - CADET TIMETABLE: SEMESTER 1

Dawn Routines – 5:00 AM: Morning Run / Blood Threshold Circuit

Combat Studies – 6:30 AM: Wolf Maneuvers (Pack vs Rogue Tactics)

Theories of Pack Politics – 8:00 AM

Survival & Stealth – 10:00 AM (Northern Forest Grounds)

Meal Hour – 12:00 PM

Scent & Resistance Testing – 1:00 PM

Evening Assessment Bouts – 3:00 PM

Meal Hour – 6:00 PM

Dormitory Curfew – 7:00 PM

Elowyn blinked.

Scent & Resistance Testing.

It was real. Not just a threat.

Oh dear....

She clenched the scroll tight until her knuckles whitened. She'd need another full flask by the time that session arrived. And Mia was unconscious at gods-know-where.

Beneath the scroll was a small black pouch. Elowyn opened it. Inside it were three silver ID crests.

One to pin to her uniform.

One to hand over for inspections.

One for identification during cadet trials.

Each one gleamed cold and official. Each one bore the same sigil and false name. She turned one in her palm slowly.

So much weight for something so small.

A final object lay inside the parcel - a thin, navy blue rule log, bound in hard leather. She flipped to the first page:

CODE OF CONDUCT FOR ALPHA TRAINEES - YEAR ONE

1. No cadet may alter or conceal their scent deliberately.

2. If any sign of a bond is felt, both parties must undergo public evaluation.

3. Dormitory infractions must be reported within 24 hours.

4. Failure to attend classes or trainings will result in class demotion and marking.

5. Fighting outside sanctioned matches is punishable by blood-for-blood trial.

6. No Luna-class allowed.

7. Disagreements may be settled through sanctioned physical combat.

8. No deliveries, illusions or contact with non-students.

9. Any false identity discovered will lead to exile.

Elowyn's eyes stung.

She closed the booklet quickly and pressed it against her chest, heart pounding.

This is it. The real fight begins here.

No more woods. No more sobbing mothers. No more caves with spell circles and candlelight moths.

She was in Ashmoore now. Surrounded by wolves.

Baron. Azpen. And a dozen more she hadn't even met.

She'd have to fight like a male. Move like a warrior. Think like someone who belonged.

And no matter how much it hurt and scared her, no one must know she was a girl.

Elowyn's lips shook and she ran a hand through her face.

She had to fight.

Elowyn didn't sleep.

She lay there and didn't notice her candle burn out finally.

She lay stiff on her king-sized bed, eyes wide open in the dark, listening to the night - breathing slow, steady, like a beast content after a hunt.

Baron.

His face flashed before her eyes and she shut it tightly for a short moment.

His green eyes. His smirk. Everything.

And suddenly his scent filled the room harder, curling in the air, and hers... stayed suppressed. For now.

Instinctively, she raised her face and sniffed long. And then, her chest pushed up and her head pressed back onto the bed.

Elowyn bit her lip and clawed at her duvet.

She was pooling.

"Oh no...." She rasped helplessly. Her legs twitched.

"Hold yourself, Elowyn. He could be around."

She tried. She really tried.

Elowyn tossed to look towards the door.

And her door came open with no warning.

She stilled instantly and her eyes shut.

But she knew who it was.

Baron.

He didn't say a word. Just walked in like he owned the room - because he did. The floor creaked beneath his weight, and Elowyn's heart beat against her ribcage like it was trying to escape.

She kept her eyes shut, praying he'd just grab something and leave.

But no. Baron wouldn't.

The bed dipped.

He had come to sit on her bed. Her scent is faint but rising. Suspicion.

Her body screamed 'don't react' but the scent she'd tried so hard to hide seemed to be shifting. Blooming.

Elowyn's eyes flicked open the smallest inch, just in time to see him reach down toward something on her floor - a fallen towel, maybe.

Then he paused.

He sniffed it.

"You awake?" he asked, voice low and smooth. Too smooth.

She didn't respond. Couldn't. Her throat was tight.

"Smells.... off in here."

A pause.

"You sweating, Froste?"

He was messing with her. Or maybe.... maybe testing.

She couldn't - couldn't afford to lose.

Baron leaned in. A cruel curiosity.

And he was sniffing again. Once. Twice. He stopped.

Her thighs clenched involuntarily, a raw ache blooming there she didn't ask for.

"Maybe it's fear of me?" He murmured, lips so close to her ear now that she felt the heat of his breath. "Yes, you should be scared."

Her body tightened beneath the sheets.

"You're really twitchy for someone trying to sleep after a long journey."

"Please don't find me out." Elowyn's head prayed.

Then - just as suddenly - he stood up.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

Elowyn exhaled like she'd surfaced from drowning. Her entire body was damp with heat, and her thighs were trembling.

She stared at the ceiling and pressed the her hands over her face.

This was only day one.

She hurriedly ran towards her vanity and reached under it to retrieve her binding flask.

She sipped twice.

★★★

★★★

It was 5:00am already.

Morning came with no warning - just a loud ring that shortly ended from Baron's bedside table and a simultaneous knock at the dorm door.

BANG. BANG.

"Dorm 3B. Gathering Field. Now."

Baron groaned and muttered something about biting whoever dared wake him.

Elowyn was already up, dressing silently, adjusting her chest wrap, checking her forged ID, dressing up.. Every second she stayed undiscovered felt like stolen time.

And finally she was gulping from her binding flask and shoving it gently into her bag.

★★★

★★★

The field was massive - tall cold stone wall, a faint hum of dominance in the air. Students lined up in rows, most in their final growth years, thick with power.

Elowyn stood straight, shoulders squared. Her voice still disguised. Her scent still masked.

Then the farther gate in front opened. Silence fell.

A tall man stepped in, silver-streaked hair pulled back, long black robes brushing the floor. He looked like a king and moved like a predator. His name echoed like a warning in whispered voices.

Senior Caelan Volke. The Chosen Alpha Head.

"He can smell lies, you know." Someone whispered behind her and when she looked back, she instantly recognized him.

"No one cheats the system when he's around."

Bree looked away apprehensively. He was the male she'd seen when she'd first come in with the illusions yesterday.

"Is he talking to me?" She cried in her head.

Fear rose.

"Am I giving something away?"

Caelan paced slowly through the rows of students, sharp blue eyes flicking across faces like he was reading their soul.

Then... he paused.

Right in front of her.

"Name," he said without even looking at his list.

Elowyn's mouth went dry. "Elyan Froste," she replied evenly.

His gaze met hers.

Too sharp. Too slow. Like he was cataloguing every twitch in her face.

"Clan?"

"Eastern Draven," she answered.

Caelan's head tilted. He stepped slightly closer - uncomfortably so. She felt the heat of his aura slam into hers like a wave.

"Interesting. My father once taught your father." he murmured.

Her stomach dropped. She fought to keep her expression still. "He spoke of such." she lied.

Caelan didn't blink.

Then, he inhaled.

A long, deep sniff. Like a beast confirming prey.

The room tensed. Baron, watching from across the hall, actually straightened.

"Your scent...." Caelan said slowly, " ....is rare."

Elowyn's heart thudded.

"I often get such comments but I reckon it's the herbs and so long a journey." She said, trying to sound casual and regal at the same time. "Our clan uses herbs for purification."

Caelan's gaze lingered.

Then, slowly, he smiled. Not kind. Not believing.

"Be careful with rituals, Prince Froste. They can purify many things... but never for long."

He moved on.

But Elowyn's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Elowyn had been very thoughtful in her anxiety when she'd wisely put on her training casuals beneath her uniform before stepping out with other 200 werewolves earlier.

As they were ordered, she took off her uniform, folded it and put it in her bag carefully. Then, she rested it at a corner.

She was ready for what was to come.

Thankfully, nobody was looking at her too much this time.

Afterall, she wasn't going to be running for them.

It helped her breath.

The sky had barely shaken off its stars when the cadets were herded from the gathering yard into the Outer Field - a larger, bleaker stretch of stone-packed earth, framed by banners and crude training poles.

The wind was colder here. Sharper. Meant to keep you alert.

Elowyn stood at the back of the crowd.

"Morning Run! Line up. Pair up! Reach the end and back five times. Ten points for each laps." a loud voice barked - deep, male, and fierce.

At the high podium in the far front stood fifteen instructors. The one who spoke wore a red cloak over his dark uniform, her arms crossed like a judge, eyes scanning every cadet.

Elowyn stumbled a little as the crowd surged forward. She ended up beyond the rear - far behind taller bodies, broader backs. Her chest thumped from the nerves already.

Baron was gone. She looked around and behind her once. Twice. He must have peeled off earlier. He was nowhere around and she licked her lips, feeling alone in a lion's den.

Her scent was under control. Her chest was tight in its wraps. But her limbs... they were too thin. Her stride too short.

And the moment the whistle blew, Elowyn knew she was in trouble.

The run wasn't just a jog. It was brutal. A double loop around the Academy perimeter walls, nearly four miles of rocky incline, dips, and a spiked log crawl halfway through.

Some cadets ran like beasts released from a cage. They were really good already.

Elowyn could barely keep pace with the one beside her - a sneering boy named Jorrel who kept shooting her looks and running at her stride.

By the time she reached the log crawl, all the other cadets were already running back for the second lap. Her arms burned. Her lungs screamed.

And when she slipped once under a muddy branch, Jorrel laughed loudly. "Stick boy's gonna break in half!"

She gritted her teeth. He ran off with the speed of light.

Elowyn tried to finish the crawl. Finish the lap. But only the first one.

She was last every time but she still ran and began stopping halfway, hopping nobody would talk about. Of course, they would notice. She was going to the farther end when they were going back. Infact, she was no longer counting because she was trying to not get hit and killed.

As she collapsed to her knees at the finish line, the red-cloaked instructor walked by, holding a scoring tablet.

"Name?"

"El-Elyan Froste," she panted.

The instructor eyed her, unimpressed. "One point. For surviving. You smell sick."

Elowyn wanted to disappear. She also thought she'd cry but she stood up.

But she nodded. Gulped back shame.

Because even one point was better than none.

"Bathroom refresh!" One instructor thundered.

Elowyn found herself in the middle of naked cadets and couldn't dare behave out of the box. She washed her face, hands and feet then moved out of their way.

★★★

★★★

The room smelled of chalk, and sharpened minds. Elowyn sat at the back, her tunic damp from the earlier drills.

The instructor, a grey-bearded male named Professor Arkin, looked up from his scroll and scanned the room. His eyes landed on her - squinted.

"You there. I wonder. Stand." He said.

Silence.

Elowyn rose to her feet.

"Froste, is it?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You look... underfed. Are you sure you're in the right place?"

A few snickers followed. Elowyn stayed still.

"I eat fine," she answered, voice calm.

"Hmph." He turned back to the scroll. "Well, if you faint before midterm, don't bleed on the parchment. And that smell comes queer...."

More laughter.

"Silence!" He thundered and even Elowyn jumped.

There was instant obedience.

She said nothing. But inside, she burned.

This was going to be a long, brutal semester.

And she'd survive every damn second of it.

★★★

★★★

The Dining Hall was vast - a vaulted stone chamber with bright chandeliers hung by thick rope, their flames licking upward like the tongues of hungry wolves. The long rows of wood-burnished tables echoed with voices, cutlery, flowers and the clatter of warrior appetites.

Elowyn sat quietly at the far end of the Newbies' table, sitting between two brawny cadets with the kind of muscle that could crack bones. Her tray trembled on the edge of the table - bread, stew, a mountainful of chicken and a tankard of what smelled like mint broth.

The cadets around her were talking loudly. Bragging. Comparing scent strengths.

"You felt the alpha who passed earlier? That smell?" one of them, a dark-skinned boy with braided hair, said. "That was Baron Ortega. His aura nearly made me stand and bow. I love his charisma."

Another male across the table nodded, biting into a roll. "Yeah. That's the Great Supreme Alpha's son. Bloodline so strong it's said to ripple the air before he enters a room."

"Elites get seated on the far end." another added, jerking his chin toward the Seniors Table, where Baron sat - sifting through his food with half-interest.

Elowyn followed their gaze.

Baron looked the same. Cold, clean, untouched. His tunic sat sharp on his body, his shoulders squared like a throne. He wasn't speaking to anyone. Just.... watching.

Not her. But the room.

Still, it made her spine buzz.

"Why isn't he ranked with Caelan then?" someone else questioned. "Caelan smells truth. Baron just smells.... pissed."

The male from earlier snorted. "They say Baron's got combat skills, but his scenting sense is dull. He failed a Bond Sensing at twelve. Missed his Luna on the rise."

"No way." another scoffed. "Then why's he heir?"

"Because King Ortis doesn't trust anyone else and that's his only son. The rest are grown-up females."

"Scenting isn't really important though. His pack members can always do that for him." Another junior said and shrugged big shoulders.

The table fell into murmurs.

Rumors.

Elowyn sat frozen in place.

So that's why Baron struggled to read her. He wasn't just suspicious - he wasn't good at it. His wolf was reacting, but he couldn't place why.

That was dangerous.

Unpredictable.