Chapter 1 ~ Fertile. Or Not

{Ragna’s POV}

The night before Selection smelled like rain and nerves.

Well, mostly nerves.

Girls across the Werewolf Reigns were probably doing the same thing I was doing— lying awake in their beds, staring at the ceiling, praying that tomorrow the elders would say the word ‘fertile’.

Because if the elders did, your life changed overnight.

Men suddenly notice you…

Men suddenly want to marry you; make you their High bonds…

Men suddenly treated you like something valuable instead of something cheap and miserable.

But if the elders didn’t say the words fertile, well…

That is what the Arena was for.

The Arena sat at the center of Velka like a giant stone heart, pumping blood and glory through the kingdom. Every citizen loved it. The men loved the violence and the fortunate female beside them as wives loved the fighters brave enough to survive it.

And the girls like me?

We learned very early that the Arena existed in case we turned out to be useless— wombless, I mean. Meanwhile, male wolves enforced these rules because in the Werewolf Reigns, strength belonged to men.

Everyone knew it.

Men ruled the packs…

Men commanded the armies…

Men sat on thrones while women sat beside them, smiling politely. The only time women stood alone in front of a crowd with essence was when they stepped onto the red sand of the Arena.

It was a interesting system really— at least for the men.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the wooden beams above my bed.

Tomorrow at dawn, the elders would test me and then one word would decide everything.

Fertile. Or not.

Most girls would have been terrified and some others would have been shaking and praying. But me, I was trying very hard not to smile and hug my stuffed pillow.

Yes. I was excited. You’re not hearing wrong. 

In my defense, I had spent most of my childhood watching the Arena fights from the stands with my parents.

Back then the Arena females had looked like legends. Strong, fearless, and unbreakable.

But I had been eight years old and children are not known for their excellent understanding of mortality.

Still, every time the crowd roared and the red sand flew into the air upon my attendance, something inside my chest had stirred.

Excitement, curiosity— maybe stupidity.

Or probably all three. But these were my emotions. 

A soft knock sounded at my door now and my mother stepped inside without waiting for an answer. That alone told me how nervous she was.

She strolled and sat on the edge of my bed, taking my hand up in hers. Her fingers were cold when there was no climatic reason for them to be.

“Ragna,” she said quietly as I sat up, “tomorrow you must pray they say fertile.” She muttered in her dread and I looked past her toward the window.

I stared into the distance of where I knew the Arena sat, in the city of Velka, massive, silent… and waiting.

Then I looked back at my mother.

“I pray,” I told her.

I told a lie.

**

By dawn, Velka’s central square looked like someone had poured half the kingdom into it.

Girls, mothers, and a handful of fathers who looked like they would rather be anywhere else were present. 

And spectators, of course.

There were always spectators.

Nothing brought people together quite like watching someone else’s future collapse.

My mother and I arrived just as the square began filling with the low hum of nervous conversation. We had traveled from our pack the evening before, just like everyone else here. Girls from dozens of packs across the Werewolf Reigns had gathered for the same reason.

Seventeen. That was the age.

Seventeen was when the Reigns decided what you were worth and how your life would move on from there… and now, I was here. 

The square itself was enormous, built from pale stone that reflected the morning light. At the far edge, four raised platforms had been arranged in a line and each held a wooden table and a high-backed chair.

A group of elders sat in those chairs.

Four of them.

Old wolves with grey hair, heavy robes, and the kind of expressions that suggested they had been deciding girls’ futures for a very long time.

In front of each platform, lines were already forming.

Four lines.

Four futures verdict points. 

I studied the crowd around me now. 

Girls my age stood shoulder to shoulder, many clutching their mothers’ hands like they might drown if they let go. Some were crying openly while some others whispered words under their breath. Prayers or whatever. 

One girl nearby was shaking so badly her mother had to hold her upright.

Apparently, the Arena had excellent marketing.

My mother’s grip tightened around my wrist also now and then she called my attention.

“Ragna,” she murmured and I turned to her. Her voice sounded the way it had the night before; tight with worry.

“You must hope they declare you fertile.” 

I had heard that sentence at least six times since sunrise.

I nodded dutifully at the words. 

“I know, mum.” I responded and then she searched my face like she expected to see terror there and realizing this, I did my best to provide a reasonable imitation.

Meanwhile, inside, my stomach was doing something complicated that felt suspiciously like thrill.

The lines ahead of us crept forward now and from where we stood, I could already see the process beginning.

Every girl here wore simple ceremonial gowns, thin linen that hung loosely to their knees. We were required to wear nothing beneath them hence I was naked beneath this. Apparently, modesty was not considered necessary when determining a girl’s usefulness.

One by one, the girls stepped onto the platform, and one by one, they lifted their gowns.

The Elder would press the Moonstone sphere against their vaginas and the stone glowing, or not, would determine the verdict. 

“Fertile.” The elder told the girl I was staring at and cheers erupted from that side of the square.

The girl burst into tears of relief and ran straight into her mother’s arms and the two of them clung to each other like they had just survived a war.

The crowd around them smiled.

Lucky girl, I guess. 

The next verdict came moments later.

“Not fertile.”

That axis went quiet and the girl who heard it didn’t scream. She didn’t cry.

She just… folded, like someone had cut the strings holding her upright.

Her mother wailed and the two guards stepped forward immediately, lifting the girl under her arms and dragging her away from the platform.

The crowd’s attention shifted back to the lines almost instantly.

Efficiency was important when judging hundreds of daughters.

I exhaled slowly.

Well, that looked unpleasant.

The line ahead of me moved again and my mother squeezed my hand again now.

“May the goddess bless you with a womb, Ragna,” she whispered and I resisted the urge to point out that I really didn’t fancy one. 

Instead I leaned forward and hugged her.

“I pray, mother,” I said and stepped away before she could study my face again and walked toward the nearest line.

The girls parted slightly to let me join the end of it and up close, the atmosphere felt heavier.

No one spoke and the only sounds were the murmured verdicts from the Elders and the shifting of feet against stone.

The girl in front of me sniffed quietly and ahead of her, another girl climbed onto the platform.

She lifted her gown and the Elder repeated the same process. The stone flashed crimson.

“Fertile.”

The girl sobbed with relief and stumbled into the arms of a waiting family member.

The next girl stepped forward.

“Not fertile.”

A sharp cry came from somewhere in the crowd while girl stared at the Elder like she hadn’t understood the language.

Two guards dragged her away. Valueless. 

My line moved again and soon there was only one girl left in front of me.

“Step forward.” The Elder said and she climbed onto the platform with trembling legs and from where I stood, I could see everything.

She raised her gown and Moonstone touched her skin. For a moment nothing happened. Then…

“Not fertile.”

The girl blinked.

Once, twice and then she swayed and collapsed sideways. She hit the ground unconsciously and the guards dragged her away without ceremony.

Fainting did not reverse one's sentence, it seems.

It was my turn now and the Elder looked up from the Moonstone.

“Step—”

I stepped forward before he finished the word. He paused and his eyebrows rose slightly.

Interesting reaction.

Up close, I could see him clearly now. He was older than I had expected, his face lined with deep creases that looked carved by decades of sun while ancient ritual tattoos curled like wolf claws against his skin.

His eyes studied me carefully, probably trying to decide whether nonchalance counted as suspicious behavior.

I ignored him and lifted my gown the same way the others had. Cold air brushed against my legs and just then, the stone touched me there.

For the first time that morning, my heart began beating harder, not because I feared the Arena. But because the alternative was worse— to me anyway. 

Fertile meant marriage. Fertile meant sitting beside a man while he lived his life and I supplied heirs.

At least the Arena lets you fight and determine for your future.

The Elder removed the Moonstone now and studied its surface, while my chest tightened. 

He hesitated— just long enough for my pulse to claw on my skin. Then he lifted his gaze to meet mine.

“You are,” he said evenly,

“non-fertile.”