LOGINAVA’S POV
The sky had darkened by the time I finished my work. I grabbed my bag, my thoughts heavy, and made my way to the door of the office. The air outside was cool, biting against my skin, but it did little to numb the weight in my chest. My twin brother, Eli, had always been my anchor. He was the one person who understood me completely. We were inseparable, our bond forged through tragedy and survival. Now, he was lying in a sterile hospital bed, fighting for his life. The doctors had told me that his condition was dire, but they couldn't even tell me how long he'd have. It was all about the operation. If we didn’t get the money, we’d lose him. I walked quickly to my car, my fingers tightening around the wheel as I gripped it, desperate to drive faster. My brother needed me. I needed to be with him. As I arrived at the hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic hit me, a smell I had grown to hate. I passed through the long corridors, the walls pale, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and found myself in front of Eli’s room. I took a breath before pushing the door open. "Eli?" My voice cracked as I entered, my heart sinking at the sight of him. Eli was pale, his usual bright, mischievous expression replaced with a hollow, sickly look. His hair was unkempt, his skin slick with sweat, and he lay motionless on the hospital bed, his breathing shallow. A machine next to him beeped steadily, a constant reminder of the fragile thread between life and death. My heart ached at the sight of him like this. This wasn't the brother I knew—this wasn’t the boy who used to make me laugh with his ridiculous antics. This was the boy who had become a shell of himself, trapped in a body that was slowly failing. "Hey, Eli," I whispered, pulling a chair beside his bed and taking his hand. "How are you feeling today?" He blinked, his eyes barely opening, his voice soft. "Tired... So tired, Ava." Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back. I couldn’t break down in front of him. Not now. Not when I was the only one who could save him. The doctors had called it Dystrophic Myopathy—a rare genetic disorder that caused progressive muscle degeneration. It attacked the muscle tissues, slowly breaking them down, leaving the body weak and helpless. There was no cure. The only thing that could save him was an extremely costly operation to stop the degeneration from spreading to his vital organs. It was as though my whole life had been a series of trials designed to break me. Losing my parents, the violence that tore our family apart, and now my twin brother slowly dying before my eyes. I squeezed his hand tightly, trying to steady my voice. "Eli, you’re going to get through this. We’re going to find a way to get you that surgery." He smiled weakly, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m just... tired." "No." I shook my head, trying to smile through the lump in my throat. "You’re not allowed to be tired, okay? You’re my twin. We’re supposed to grow old together." A small, almost imperceptible tear slid down his cheek, and my heart cracked in two. I wiped it away gently. "You’re not going anywhere, Eli. I swear it. I’m going to fix this." He closed his eyes again, and I was left sitting in silence, holding his hand, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. The door opened quietly behind me, and a nurse stepped in, holding a clipboard. "Ms. Ava, we need to talk about your brother’s condition. The treatment he’s on isn't showing the expected results. Without the surgery, we have... less than a week." I stood, my heart sinking further. "I know. I know." She glanced at Eli, her face softening. "You’re running out of time, and we’re doing everything we can, but the surgery is the only option left. He’s getting weaker. If his organs begin to fail..." Her voice trailed off, and I nodded, unable to speak, too afraid that if I said the words aloud, they might become true. "I’ll get the money," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Somehow." The nurse gave me a sympathetic look, then left the room, closing the door behind her. I turned back to Eli, my mind racing. I couldn’t lose him. He was all I had left. --- FLASHBACK: THE PACK’S BETRAYAL I remember the night my parents died like it was yesterday. It was during a full moon. My parents, both omegas, had been part of a small pack. We were weak, small, and vulnerable, but we lived peacefully. That peace shattered the night the Alpha of the larger pack decided to take everything from us. He was ruthless, merciless. My parents were too kind, too weak to survive his wrath. The Alpha didn’t care about my parents’ pleas. They were nothing but pawns in his eyes. He killed them without a second thought—because they were omegas. Because they were weaker, because they weren’t valuable in his eyes. I was just a child. My brother and I had hidden in the shadows, watching the brutality unfold. The Omega who saved us that night was a mystery to me—she came out of nowhere, pulling us from our hiding place and running with us, carrying us away from the carnage. She wasn’t even a member of the pack. She was a stranger, a rogue Omega, but her strength was undeniable. She got us out, saving us from the massacre. That’s when my hatred for Alphas began. They were cruel, power-hungry monsters who would stop at nothing to gain more territory, more influence, and more power. The loss of my parents was a scar that could never heal. And the fact that the very pack they once called home had turned against them was a reminder of how unforgiving this world could be for those who were weak. --- PRESENT DAY My hands clenched into fists. I had always vowed to never rely on anyone—especially not an Alpha. They were the ones who took everything from me. I looked at Eli, sleeping so peacefully, unaware of how badly I was breaking inside. The thought of him being taken from me was unbearable. "Just hold on, Eli," I whispered, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. "I swear, I’ll get you through this." I took a deep breath, my mind already calculating the impossible. The money. The surgery. I would do anything to save my brother.Alexander 's POV The corridor stretched before us like a vein pulsing with the academy's frantic heartbeat, wards sputtering along the walls in erratic bursts of blue and violet—fading one second, flaring the next as if the stones themselves were arguing over whether to hold or shatter. Students clustered in doorways, their eyes wide and feral in the torchlight, whispers slithering through the air like smoke: *Storm... mates... the heir...* A few younger pups edged closer, noses twitching as they scented the ozone clinging to Elara and me, but Damian's presence—a low, rumbling growl that needed no words—sent them scattering like leaves in a gale. He led the way, his stride purposeful, shoulders squared against the weight of what we'd unleashed, but I caught the subtle limp in his left leg, a remnant of the shadows' grasp. Blood still trickled from the gash on his forehead, stark against his paling skin, and for the first time, he looked... mortal. Not the unbreakable alpha who'd shap
Alexander 's POV The prophecy stirred at her words, as if summoned. The runes on the floor brightened, their glow intensifying until the chamber floor groaned, cracks spiderwebbing outward from our feet. A voice—not from the air, but from within us—rumbled to life, ancient and genderless, woven from thunder and whisper: “When storm finds flame, the Veil will bleed. When mates collide, the world is remade. Blood of the line, oath of the bound— rise, child of skies, and claim the crown.” The words burrowed into my skull, etching themselves in fire and ice. Visions flashed unbidden: endless skies rent by lightning, wolves howling atop shattered mountains, a great tear in reality spilling shadows that devoured light. And at the center—me, crowned in storm, hand in hand with her, our forms blurred into one radiant force, remaking the world in chaos and glory. Elara recoiled—or tried to. Her body jerked back, but the bond held firm, yanking her forward until her lips hove
Alexander’s POV The second my skin met hers— the world didn’t just stop. It shattered. Time fractured into jagged shards, each one glinting with the raw, unfiltered essence of what was happening between us. The air turned viscous, heavy as molten gold, pressing against my eardrums until the only sound was the thunderous syncopation of our heartbeats—mine a frantic war drum, hers a wild, erratic storm chasing mine. The blue flames in the hearth hung suspended mid-roar, tongues of fire frozen in eternal flicker, casting eternal shadows that clawed at the edges of my vision like desperate fingers. Damian was a statue mid-lunge, his grey eyes wide with primal terror, mouth open in a shout that never came—lips forming my name, or maybe hers, or a curse against the gods themselves. The scattered papers from my dropped folder floated in lazy defiance of gravity, curling at the edges as if whispering secrets they weren’t meant to hold. The wardstone in the wall, that ancient lump of obsi
Alexander’s POV The air tightened—thickening, vibrating—like the room itself knew a truth was about to be ripped open. Elara leaned forward, elbows on her knees, studying me with the lazy focus of a predator that had decided the chase was finally worth the effort. “Everything?” she echoed. “Then listen well, storm-born.” My pulse stuttered. Storm-born. My father’s jaw locked so hard I heard the crack. “Elara—” Damian warned. But she didn’t stop. She never stopped. The Prophecy She lifted her hand and the fragment on the desk—those knotted runes—lit like a heartbeat. “One thousand years ago,” she murmured, “a storm ripped through the Veil, splitting the worlds. A creature crawled out of that tear—half sky, half shadow, and shaped like a wolf carved from lightning.” My wolf pushed against my ribs. Hard. Damian spoke through clenched teeth. “That prophecy was sealed. Forbidden.” “Everything forbidden eventually comes home,” she replied sweetly. The runes brightened.
Alexander 's POV The word hung in the air like a noose, tightening around my throat until breath came shallow and ragged. *Reeks of it.* As if I were a stain on the world, a harbinger's mark etched into my skin without my consent. My wolf recoiled first, hackles rising in the cage of my chest, a snarl building that I swallowed down like broken glass. What *it*? The shadow-wraiths she spoke of? The unraveling spells? Or something older, burrowed deeper—like the prophecies Damian had half-whispered to me on sleepless nights by the fire, tales of a storm-born alpha who would either mend the fractured packs or drown them all in blood and thunder.Elara didn't flinch under Damian's stare, didn't so much as shift her weight. She just let her finger linger in the air, pointing at me like I was exhibit A in some cosmic trial, her violet eyes sliding back to him with lazy deliberation. "Don't look so shocked, Chancellor. You've smelled it too, haven't you? That tang on the wind whenever he wa
Damian's POV I’d seen him stare down assassins in the dead of night, their blades inches from his throat, turning their fear into weapons against them. Challenge alphas in blood duels under full moons, emerging with barely a scratch while his opponents limped away howling. Negotiate with witches who could turn bones into dust with a whisper, walking away with pacts that reshaped borders. I’d never—never—seen him look like this: the color leaching from his face, leaving him ashen as the fragment on his desk; his pupils blown wide, not with rage, but with the dawning horror of a man who'd built his empire on sand.Like someone had just moved the horizon, redrawing the map of everything he held dear."Elara," he said slowly, the word a bridge over an abyss, "there are things you don’t understand—layers to this, alliances woven decades ago, prophecies that—""Then explain." Her interruption was a spark to tinder, voice sharpening without rising, eyes locking onto his with the intensity o







