Chapter Eight — Moonlit Gates

POV: Bella (Third-Person Limited)

The gates of the Alpha Academy groaned as Bella pushed them open, and for a moment, she felt like the world itself was holding its breath. The stone towers loomed over her, iron vines curling around the edges, symbols etched deep into the walls that made her chest tighten with a mixture of awe and something she couldn’t name.

She had dreamed of this day for years. Every early morning she spent training in secret. Every bruise she hid. Every time someone told her she would never belong, she pushed harder. Every moment she had endured the sneers and whispers, the “omega” labels, the dismissals they had led her here.

A smile tugged at her lips. I made it.

Her chest warmed with pride, but it didn’t last. The elders had approved her entry with unnerving ease. No resistance, no hesitation, no warning. After everything in the arena, the bond flared, the panic she had caused she expected objections, tests, conditions. But they had opened the gates and let her walk straight in.

Her gut twisted. Something was moving in the shadows of the Academy, and she wasn’t supposed to see it yet.

She ignored it and stepped further inside. Students turned, heads rising like a wave of eyes. Alphas, mostly. Tall, confident, exuding strength in every movement. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Whispers chased her footsteps.

“That’s her.”

“The girl from the trials.”

“She beat five alphas.”

“She’s an omega. No way.”

Bella’s shoulders squared. She didn’t glance at them. She didn’t flinch. She walked as she always had, like someone who knew she didn’t belong but refused to leave.

A dull, persistent pressure settled beneath her ribs, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Not pain, exactly. More like a presence that wanted to be acknowledged.

We’re here now, it seemed to say.

A bell rang somewhere deep in the Academy, Sharp, Commanding, Even the boldest students froze. Instructors appeared, moving with authority so palpable that it made some of the younger students flinch.

One of them stopped in front of her. Master Halric. Bella’s stomach dropped. His reputation preceded him: known for breaking students with words alone, for seeing the weakest part of someone and ripping it open. He stared at her as though weighing the value of her life or her usefulness.

“So,” he said, voice low and controlled, “you are the anomaly.”

Bella didn’t respond. Words felt meaningless here.

“Follow,” he ordered, turning without another glance.

Her steps echoed in the corridor as she obeyed, her eyes taking in every detail. The hallways were colder, darker than the outside air. The stone absorbed sound until her own breathing felt too loud. Symbols covered the walls, unfamiliar, jagged, and old. Her skin prickled. Something inside her warned that this place had been waiting.

They stopped at a small, windowless room. Narrow bed. The desk bolted to the floor. Sparse, sterile, isolated from the other dorms.

“This is your quarters,” Halric said flatly.

Bella hesitated. “And the others?”

“Have different accommodations. You will attend training, meals, and evaluations. You will not wander. You will not engage in unsanctioned sparring.”

“And if I do?”

Halric’s eyes met hers, sharp and unyielding. “Then you will confirm every fear the council has about you.”

He left.

Bella sank onto the bed, her fingers digging into the edges as if holding herself together. Excited? Yes. This was what she had fought for. She belonged here. Finally, unease lingered like a shadow. Something wasn’t right. The Academy wasn’t just a reward. It was a test. And she didn’t know who was being tested… or whatever had been awakened inside her after the trials.

The next morning, training began.

No beginners. No gradual warm-ups. Bella was thrown into advanced combat exercises immediately, paired with students who underestimated her at first glance. Some watched cautiously, unsure how to approach her. A few were openly hostile. She didn’t care. Every movement, every strike, every dodge reminded her that she had survived worse, that she had endured more than anyone else could imagine.

Her body remembered the pain of the arena and used it. Her muscles flowed like water. Her mind tracked every movement. She was fast, precise, unstoppable but halfway through a drill, the pressure inside her chest flared. It stole her breath, made her vision blur. She stumbled. Her opponent took advantage, sending her sprawling to the floor. Laughter rippled through the other students.

Bella’s hands shook as she pushed herself up. Her jaw tightened.

“Again,” she said. The word wasn’t a request. It was a promise.

She didn’t win the drill, but she didn’t break either. The instructors noted it, and some students murmured behind her back, curiosity and disbelief flickering in their eyes.

By evening, her muscles burned, her head throbbed, but the pressure beneath her ribs had not gone. Not exhaustion. Not pain. Something else. Something aware. Something watching, always aware, always calculating.

That night, alone in her quarters, the sensation intensified. She sank to her knees, palms pressed to the cold stone floor. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts. Heat and cold collided under her skin. It wasn’t pain, but it was sharper than any pain she had known.

“Stop,” she whispered. “Please.”

The pressure paused, almost politely. But then it shifted. Calm. Controlled. Not gone.

Bella froze. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She could only feel.

That wasn’t me.

Her heart raced. Her mind screamed. Whatever was sealed inside her after the trials was awake now not fully, not violently but intelligent, patient, learning, observing.

Hours passed. She didn’t move. The moonlight fell across the small room, spilling over her hands, over the bed, over the fear that wrapped her chest tighter than any chain.

The next morning, a notice appeared outside her door. Bold, official, impossible to ignore:

Mandatory evaluation. Private. Immediate.

No explanation. No time to prepare. No hint of what would be tested.

Bella’s stomach sank. Evaluations weren’t about strength alone. They were about control.

And she wasn’t sure anymore who was in control of her… or whatever had been waiting inside her all this time.

A shadow of doubt crept across her mind. The Academy wasn’t just a reward. It wasn’t a place to prove herself. It was a stage. And she was not the only one being watched.

Somewhere in the stone corridors, some presence had noticed her arrival. Something patient, calculating, knowing. And it wasn’t about training.

Bella pressed her back against the wall, hand on the doorknob. The room was quiet, but she could feel it with the eyes that didn’t belong to anyone she had seen.

Her pulse raced. Her chest ached.

She had fought to be here. She had won her place. But now… she wasn’t sure she had a choice at all.

The sealed presence inside her shifted, subtly, like it was testing the waters. She felt it everywhere inside her, outside her, in the way the Academy itself seemed to hum.

She swallowed hard.

This was only the beginning.

And something told her, with absolute certainty, that the next test wouldn’t be in the drills. It would be in herself.

The bell rang in the distance, sharp and deliberate.

Bella’s eyes narrowed. She stood, trembling slightly, determination flaring despite the fear.

Let them see what I can do.

And yet… she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

The Academy had secrets. And one of them was already watching her.