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.

7 And suddenly, she felt heat creeping up the back her neck again. Her chest felt warm - her scent might be creeping too close to the surface. But she couldn't tell.

Her binding could not dare fade for once or she'd die.

Elowyn stood up quickly, pushing her tray and grabbing her bag.

"Bathroom." she murmured. No one really noticed.

She rushed through the back hallway and ducked into a small tiled washroom near the eastern wall.

The door slammed. She braced both hands against the sink, breathing hard.

Then she reached beneath her coat - pulled out the binding flask.

And drank.

One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps. Her throat burned as the herbs surged through her system, tightening her scent, cooling her blood.

Her pulse slowed.

She wiped her mouth, stared at herself in the cracked mirror. Her reflection didn't feel like hers anymore.

"I need to write Mia once I get to the dorm." She whispered hoarsely. "She needs to know everything."

This place wasn't just brutal. It was buzzing with wolves - with politics, rank, and teeth.

And she might be one wrong breath away from being torn open.

★★★

★★★

"Dear Elowyn...."

The letter wrote itself with a soft feather pen on a clean sheet of paper, even as Mia lay in the cave lit by blue-glowing moss and the faint hum of her magical familiars.

Their wingless shapes hovered like around her, whispering in a volume only her bloodline could hear.

She'd been here for days. Or weeks. Time moved oddly in the spirit veil.

Alone.

"I'm not supposed to miss you. I'm supposed to be brave. But dear, Elowyn... I'm so lonely."

She hugged her knees to her chest, the parchment hovering mid-air, ink dancing across it with her thoughts.

"This cave - it's deep, cold, and full of memories that don't belong to me. These familiar spirits... they obey. They heal. They serve. But they aren't my family. They aren't you."

She bit her lower lip. Blinked back the sting in her eyes.

"Maybe I shouldn't even be writing this. Maybe you're out there in real danger and I'm here whining. I hate myself for it."

A soft hum rose nearby - two of her oldest familiars, Jahmi and Quenly, materialized briefly beside her. Their voices echoed in the gloom.

"You're being hunted, Mia. Haspan seeks all ties to Elowyn. You must stay veiled. You mustn't speak too loudly through the veil."

She stiffened. She hadn't known it was that bad.

"If they find you...." Quenly said gravely. "....they will use your blood as bait to find her."

Mia reached out and touched the feather pen. It pulsed beneath her fingers.

"So I hide. I stay low. And I dream of you making it out of there."

She sighed softly.

"I'm scared too, El. Your Loyal Friend, Mia."

Her breath trembled. She lay back on the bed and squeezed the floating letter then held it in her fist, it melted into her palm, sealed by magic.

"But if I have to die again to keep you alive, I will." Mia whispered.

She closed her eyes, and the cave dimmed further as her breathing slowed. Sleep tugged at her, and the spirits circled her protectively.

★★★

★★★

Finally, the dreaded class had arrived.

The whole academy came marching in. And as usual, Elowyn was timidly queued behind the mass of able-bodied males.

The scenting arena was no ordinary classroom. It was a large and circular platform surrounded by stone tiers and wooden beams draped with clan flags and designs. It felt ancient. Ceremonial.

Elowyn stood near the edge of the crowd, her fingers trembling lightly as she thought of the flask in her bag.

One sip left.

Just one.

The platform ahead rose slowly. Two instructors stood on it - one broad-shouldered with a bronze neck cuff, and one tall and severe with silver beads in his braids.

"Welcome to the first Scenting Class of the semester," the tall instructor said. His voice echoed, firm and precise. "This is where the truth of who you are will be revealed...."

A beat.

"Scents are not mere natural perfumes. They are the language of the blood."

"They confirm compatibility."

"They signal rank."

"They protect, seduce, deceive, and sometimes... betray."

Murmurs rustled through the students. Some shifted uncomfortably.

"Silence!"

Silence.

Elowyn kept her face blank.

"Scenting...." the male added. "....is the only law nature never lies about."

The speaker stepped forward.

"Now, those of you who are naturally gifted in scenting, step forward. Stand in the circle. Seniors, follow. Three straight lines."

A dozen new cadets moved instantly - many alphas, a few betas, one or two with golden clan bands. Some newbies, too. Elowyn stayed frozen.

"Gifted newbies will each walk among the other newbies, betas and alpha seniors...." the broad-shouldered man said. "....and choose who their instincts identify as a potential pack-fellow. Now. Seniors, queue at that corner."

Gasps and excitement stirred the group. A few cadets puffed stood straight. Some looked anxious.

There was an instant rearrangement.

The newbies who were good at scenting were left in the circle.

"There is no talking. No gestures. Just scent. Let your wolf decide. You can shut your eyes."

And the junior, natural scenters stepped into the arena.

Elowyn's heart nearly stopped.

Because the boy who had said creepy things to her at the gathering hall at 5:00 AM was looking at her somehow and had joined them - his eyes sharp, his nose twitching already like he was looking for something.

Or someone.

And she was standing at the back of the queue.

Scent still bound. But barely. Maybe.

And Baron? Standing far to the left, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

Please.... please stop looking at me, Elowyn begged in her head silently.

But the game had already begun.

One by one, the scent-gifted cadets closed their eyes, bowed their heads, and began to move through the still crowd.

Their movements were slow, predatory. Almost reverent.

The boy moved like a bloodhound on the trail. Not too fast. Not too eager. But with purpose. He sniffed as he passed each row, pausing at some shoulders, dismissing others without so much as a glance.

Elowyn's breath slowed. She needed to try and relax.

Baron's gaze flicked to her from where he stood. For a moment, it looked like his eyes narrowed - not in suspicion, but recognition. His wolf, already strained, might be responding. Again.

The strange newbie was drawing closer.

She looked away. Bit the inside of her cheek.

Another new cadet, a bulky silver-haired Beta, suddenly froze in front of a tall Alpha at the edge. He opened his eyes, nodded once.

"This one." he said. "My wolf recognizes his bloodline."

Cheers rose. The Alpha clapped him on the back. The instructors scribbled something.

Lucian moved forward again.

Now he was just two rows away.

Elowyn clenched her fists.

Don't sniff me. Don't sniff me.

Then, it happened.

Lucian paused.

Dead center in front of her row.

The air shifted.

His nostrils flared. Once. Then twice. Slowly, he turned his head, and the corner of his lips curled up.

"That smell of yours...."

He took one step forward. And stood there for seconds.

Elowyn's knees locked.

Baron straightened.

"Cadet Riven Thorney...." Barked one of the instructors from the platform. "....you have thirty seconds. Find your match or step back."

Riven looked like he was about to say something then stopped. Slowly, he moved down one more line instead. Past her. His fingers twitched.

He hadn't chosen her.

But his eyes... they flicked back.

And she knew.

He'd scented something off.

But he wasn't sure. Yet.

Riven Thorney moved on.

Elowyn didn't breathe until he stepped back into the inner circle and gave a single nod to a male from a northern clan.

The instructors clapped once.

"That concludes the scenting by the Gifted. Count your marks. Remember who chose you. Those matches will be watched throughout the semester."

The crowd hummed with pride, whispers of who chose who flying through the air.

But one name echoed the loudest.

"Baron Ortega...." one of the instructors called. "....has been selected by nineteen cadets. Highest tally. The Wolf-Heir carries ⅓ of the crowd's recognition."

Gasps. Applause. Even some bows.

Elowyn stayed still. Her hands felt clammy.

Baron didn't react. He stood with his arms down, unmoved by the attention.

But his eyes - dark, calculating - flicked toward her. Just for a second.

The second part of the class began.

"Now, those newbies who are unable to scent properly...." The bronze-necked instructor barked. ".... form a line to the right. You will be chosen instead. Your bodies may not know how to search, but maybe they know how to be found."

Elowyn joined the line, stomach twisting.

There were at least a hundred and something newbie cadets in the non-scenting group. Most were upcoming Alphas or young Betas - confused, nervous.

She stood still.

The Alphas were instructed to step forward.

"Pick whoever draws your wolf. Do not think. Do not judge. Move."

One by one, the Alphas walked through the line. Hands touching shoulders. Sniffing necks. Murmurs of "mine" spread like wildfire.

Elowyn stared ahead. Silent. Still.

Her flask had drained earlier. Her scent should be bound. But now... now she couldn't even smell herself. Could they?

Could they tell something was off?

Another boy beside her was chosen - cheered, even. One boy bowed when the high-ranking Alpha Caelan Volke squeezed his shoulder with a thumbprint of approval.

And then...

Elowyn was the last one.

Unpicked.

Unclaimed.

Unseen.

The instructors paused. The crowd slowly quieted.

One of the instructors with broad shoulders, looked at her - then at the others.

"No Alpha chose you?"

Elowyn's mouth dried. She shook her head once.

The silence thickened.

"Then, you must be scentless."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone coughed, someone else snorted.

"Scentless?"

"Like dead meat-"

"Silence," barked Caelan Volke suddenly, his voice sharp and deadly. "You shame the Pack by mocking what you don't understand."

The crowd froze.

Caelan's eyes locked on Elowyn.

And though his voice saved her, his gaze said something else entirely.

I'm watching you.

Elowyn's fingers curled tightly in her palms.

This was worse than being discovered.

She wasn't found. She was nothing.

She sighed. Shoulders stiff. Eyes burning. Head bowed.

She wouldn't cry. Never!

Her scent might've been hidden... but the shame? That lingered like blood on fresh snow.

The instructors' voices thundered once more, cutting through the fog of curiosity and silence and tension in the scenting arena.

"Gather in groups!" One barked. "Each Alpha, step forward with your chosen cadets. Betas, you know where you belong. Newbies, follow your markers. You've been scented, you've been claimed - stand where your wolf now answers."

Boots shuffled, bodies moved.

Elowyn didn't.

How could she when no one understood her smell.

She stood awkwardly in the middle as the crowd broke into clusters around the stone platform. Twenty-one distinct groups had formed - each built around an Alpha who'd been chosen. Some were as few as thirty. Some as large as forty. Baron, sixty.

Only one stood alone.

Elowyn Froste.

The instructor scanned the groups, then his eyes slid back to her.

"You there. Scentless. Step forward."

Elowyn walked to the center slowly, fists clenched at her side.

The instructor turned to the rest. "Before we close this session, we'll test the instincts of every Alpha once more. All Alphas... will be given the chance to allow this cadet into their grouping."

Elowyn froze.

Wait... what?

Her gaze darted. Some cadets were whispering already. Others staring openly.

The instructor raised his voice. "All Alphas - if you feel a draw, a tolerance, a hint that she could belong to your pack - step forward and nod."

She stood straighter. Not because she wanted to - but because she had to.

One by one, each Alpha was addressed.

And one by one, they shook their heads.

A few looked amused. Others, disinterested.

One Alpha wouldn't stop staring through her. He had long, black hair pinned at the back of his head. Sinister.

Azpen, the cocky young heir from the southern quarters, laughed out loud. "That one? She's barely wolf. My scent nearly left the room just standing next to her." He waved a dismissive hand.

"No." Caelan Volke declared. "Not mine."

"Next."

"No."

"Not a chance."

It hurt. Every. Single. One.

By the time the twentieth Alpha had passed, Elowyn's ears were ringing. Her vision burned - but she still hadn't blinked.

And then came the last name.

"Baron Ortega."

Silence rippled instantly.

All heads turned toward him.

He stood still, arms still folded, eyes unreadable - that same clean aura that demanded attention without begging for it.

Baron said nothing for a while.

Then... he uncrossed his arms and took one step forward.

"I don't sense anything." He said calmly.