Chapter 32: One Soul, Two Battles

The next week was agony for both Kalmin and Nuri. She hadn’t forgiven him—hadn’t even considered it. Every glance, every word between them felt like a fresh wound. Kalmin still had no idea how to begin making amends, and was slowly beginning to realize he might never be able to. She’d never forgive him for killing Peter.

Days passed in heavy silence. Kalmin kept his distance, careful not to cross the invisible line she’d drawn around herself. He watched her retreat into herself, each step she took toward the academy a silent reminder that the real test was not the one ahead—but whether their fractured bond could ever be pieced back together.

Nuri threw herself into her training with everything she had. The looming academy testing wasn’t just a rite of passage—it was her chance to prove she was stronger than her pain, stronger than betrayal. She pushed through every grueling exercise, every harsh instructor’s gaze, every whispered doubt from the shadows.

But inside, the ache remained. The memory of Peter’s death shadowed her steps, threatening to unravel her resolve.

On the morning of the test, Nuri stood before the towering doors of the academy’s testing hall, her heart pounding like a war drum. The air was cold and sharp, as if the very walls demanded perfection. Kalmin stood a few feet back, his eyes on her but his expression unreadable—a silent sentinel, unsure whether to stay or step forward.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of the place mingling with the bittersweet scent of determination and regret. This was her moment. Their moment. The day she and Tempest would show them all what hybrids were made of. That being half human didn’t make them any less of a wolf than any purebred they were put up against. ‘Are you ready for this?’ She asked Tempest, inhaling slowly as she glanced over her shoulder to Kalmin, whose eyes were locked onto her.

‘I’m ready.’ There was no hesitation in Tempest’s voice. No fear. She was completely prepared. She’d spent more than enough time dreading this day, but now was not the time for dread. Now was the time for certain action.

‘Let’s do this shit.’ Nuri said with a nod as she pushed open the doors and walked down the hall to the auditorium. She could hear the click of Kalmin’s boots as he followed behind her. She knew that he had to be here; it was one of his duties as the Alpha to oversee the testing process, but she really wished he didn’t have to be.

The testing room was colder than she expected.

White walls, white floor, no clock, no windows. Just the steady hum of the overhead lights and a long metal table with six chairs. Nuri took the last one on the end, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the cheap black pen they’d given her. The test packet in front of her was thick—at least a hundred pages—and sealed at the edges like some kind of state secret.

She wasn’t alone.

Three girls sat to her left—purebreds. Impeccably groomed, uniforms tailored to flatter. One of them—Mira, she thought—shot her a look and whispered to the blonde beside her, loud enough to be heard.

“She’s going to fold. Watch. First ten pages.”

The others snickered. Sneering glances slid over Nuri like oil. Classic purebred venom.

Nuri said nothing.

She didn’t look at them. Didn’t react. She kept her eyes on the packet until the proctor gave the signal.

“You may begin.”

The sound of tearing paper filled the room as seals broke. Nuri’s heart was pounding so hard she thought the others might hear it. She flipped the first page.

Section One: Pack Law and Governance.

Question One: A rogue hybrid is captured crossing into pack territory without clearance. List and explain the standard five-tier response protocol, including situational modifiers.

She swallowed hard.

This wasn’t a test. It was war. And she’d been preparing for it since the day Kalmin dragged her into this world.

Nuri wrote with a steady hand, the tip of her pen scratching furiously as she poured out every lecture, every late-night cram session, every rule drilled into her by Moira and the instructors. She didn’t second-guess herself. She didn’t blink.

The questions got harder.

Anatomy of the shift. Hybrid physiological variance. Historical precedent for mixed-blood enforcers. Tactical response scenarios. One question practically bled on the page:

If a bonded mate poses a threat to the pack, what is the protocol for neutralization?

Her pen paused.

Kalmin.

She answered it anyway. By the book. Without emotion.

Around her, the purebred girls scribbled faster. One of them sighed dramatically, stretching long legs beneath the table. Mira leaned back in her chair and muttered, “At least we’re not getting scored on bloodlines.”

Nuri ignored her.

By the time she reached the final page, her hand was cramping and her back ached from the rigid posture she'd held. Her brain was fried, eyes dry from barely blinking. She finished the last question with seconds to spare before the proctor called time.

They weren’t done.

“Oral evaluation, next room,” the proctor said flatly.

Nuri stood, handed over her packet, and followed the others into a smaller chamber. A semicircle of elders waited, seated behind a long stone table. Moira sat in the center, and Kalmin sat to her left. Moira’s expression was carved from ice, and Kalmin wore his typical deadpan expression as he watched her.

“Nuri,” Moira said, folding her hands. “Let’s begin.”

What followed wasn’t an interview—it was an inquisition.

They questioned her loyalty. Her fitness. Her control. Asked how often she meditated. How often her wolf was let free. How often she fought. Whether she had ever considered running.

“Do you believe you belong in this pack?” the man to Moira’s right asked.

“I believe I’ve bled enough to earn it,” she said.

A silence followed. Kalmin looked away, a pained expression flickering across his face.

Moira’s eyes shifted to the others, then back to Nuri. “That remains to be seen. Go into the arena.”

The arena doors groaned open like the belly of some ancient beast, yawning wide to swallow her whole. Cold air rolled out in waves, laced with the sharp tang of sweat, the coppery staleness of old blood, and the faint musk of fear. The walls, built of rough-hewn blackstone, stretched impossibly high, casting the space into shadows pierced only by thin slats of light that sliced through the dark like celestial blades. Dust motes danced in the beams like drifting spirits.

The sand beneath her boots was coarse and gritty, raked clean but still holding the ghost-prints of every challenger who’d come before her. Deep grooves etched into the ground told stories of fights won and lost, of limbs broken and bones buried. Somewhere overhead, chains creaked faintly as they swayed from unseen rigging, a chilling reminder that not all shifts ended cleanly.

The gallery above buzzed with restrained silence. Eyes bore down on her from every direction—elders, instructors, apprentices. Kalmin stood at the edge of the observation platform, hands braced on the stone railing, a shadow carved in tension. Moira flanked him, her face a mask of impassive judgment.

The purebred girls, once loud with venom and laughter, were now muted specters beside her. Their earlier swagger had wilted after the oral trials. No more smirks. No sideways jabs. They walked like soldiers now—shoulders stiff, jaws locked, eyes narrowed with private fears.

“The final phase,” Moira announced, her voice slicing through the chamber with clinical precision. “Combat discipline. Instinct control. Shifting restraint. You will face a series of escalating threats. Lose control of your wolf without permission, and you fail.”

The words echoed off the stone, heavy with finality.

Nuri’s breath hitched. Tempest coiled beneath her skin, her presence a prowling heat in Nuri’s chest. The wolf was alert, muscles tight, golden eyes watching through hers.

‘Let them come,’ Tempest growled, hunger sharpening her mental voice.

‘Not yet,’ Nuri warned, jaw clenched. ‘Only when I say.’

Mira was called first. Her movements were clean, efficient, almost mechanical. Every strike followed protocol. Her wolf barely stirred.

Then came the others—each one walking the line between aggression and restraint. Some stumbled. One shifted too soon and was escorted out in shame. Another hesitated and got knocked down flat.

Then:

“Candidate Nuri.”

She stepped into the center of the arena, her body humming with awareness. The sand shifted beneath her feet. The silence thickened.

Then movement.

The first attacker came fast from the left, a masked figure wielding a long staff. The weapon whooshed through the air—aimed for her temple. Nuri dropped low, the sand scalding her palms as she ducked. She seized the staff mid-swing, pivoted her weight, and wrenched it free in a violent twist. The crack of bone followed as the attacker hit the ground hard.

No time to breathe.

A second charged from behind. She felt the subtle change in the air, the tremor in the floorboards—spun with precision and drove her elbow back into his mask. The shatter of impact rang out like a gunshot.

But the third…

Shifted.

The sound of bones snapping echoed like thunder. A sleek, obsidian wolf landed in front of her, muscles rippling under its dark coat. It didn’t hesitate—fangs bared, eyes gleaming with malice—it lunged.

Tempest surged inside her, claws digging metaphorical trenches inside her ribs. ‘Shift. End this.’

‘No,’ Nuri snarled internally, holding her ground. ‘I said no.’

She pivoted, letting the wolf’s weight carry it forward. She caught it midair, momentum fueling her throw. The impact as it hit the sand echoed through the arena—dull, heavy, final. The wolf whimpered, dazed, its form twitching before it limped away in defeat.

A ripple of astonished whispers passed through the gallery.

“She didn’t shift,” someone gasped. “She fought it off.”

Kalmin’s grip on the railing went white-knuckled. His lips parted slightly, but he said nothing.

Moira’s voice, sharper than ever, cut through the murmur.

“Again.”

Another figure stepped out. A girl. Not purebred, but trained. Muscular. Scarred. Her eyes held no warmth. She cracked her knuckles as she sized Nuri up, smirking.

“I’ll make you shift,” she hissed.

They circled like predators, feet sliding through the sand with deliberate care. The girl struck first—no warning. Her claws flashed as she lunged, slashing for Nuri’s face.

Nuri dropped low, rolled, came up with a sharp elbow to the girl’s ribs. The other stumbled, recovered, and snarled. Her eyes glowed golden. Canines elongated. The shift began—but not fully. A halfway thing, grotesque and dangerous.

She came at Nuri again.

Tempest roared within her. The wolf wanted out—no, needed out.

Nuri let her rise, just a little. Enough to feel the heat in her bones, the crackle of energy curling through her spine. Her fingertips ached as claws threatened to burst free. Muscles coiled, tendons pulled tight like bowstrings. Her body trembled from the strain of holding the line—every breath a war.

She fought like a storm barely held back. Each move controlled. Measured.

Savage without surrendering.

The clash of bodies was a blur of motion and grit—sweat flying, snarls cracking through the air like whips. Nuri ducked beneath a swipe, pivoted on a heel, and struck hard—an elbow to the solar plexus, a sweep of her leg to take the girl down.

A thud. A gasp. Sand flew.

The girl hit the ground flat on her back, panting, bleeding, growling through half-formed jaws. Her transformation snapped forward uncontrollably—fur tearing through skin, bones distorting into their true shape. She shifted fully, the sound of it brutal and wrong, her defiance ending in a ragged snarl of defeat.

“Loss of control,” the instructor barked.

Gasps scattered through the crowd like startled birds taking flight. The other purebreds flinched, some turning away, others going rigid with silent dread. One clutched the edge of her shirt with white-knuckled hands.

Moira didn’t flinch.

“Last opponent.”

From the far gate emerged a wolf unlike the others—old, silvered, massive. Not a trainee. A hunter. Every muscle moved with deliberate power. Its fur shimmered like iron beneath moonlight, and its gaze glinted with something more than challenge: approval. Recognition. As if it saw something ancient inside Nuri and welcomed it.

The moment its paws touched the arena floor, the air shifted. Thickened.

Tempest’s breath filled her like smoke. ‘Let me, Nuri,’ she begged, voice ragged and raw. ‘This one is real.’

‘Not yet. Just help me hold the line.’

The old wolf lunged like thunder—silent until it struck. Nuri didn’t flinch. She twisted beneath its leap, clawed hands flashing— But before she could slam it down, sharp teeth clamped hard on her shoulder, biting deep.

Pain exploded, hot and fierce, burning through muscle and bone. A sharp, ragged breath tore from Nuri’s lips. She staggered but held her ground.

Kalmin’s eyes flared—dark, wild with fury—an alpha’s rage ignited. His whole body tensed as if to leap in and tear the wolf apart.

But he did not move.

His jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. Every instinct screamed to protect her—yet every rule whispered the same thing:

‘She must do this alone.’ He said, biting down on his tongue so hard he tasted blood, reminding Rian to mind his place. If there was ever a time the alpha couldn’t lose control, it was now.

The arena seemed to freeze in the silence that followed—the crowd holding its breath. Kalmin’s gaze pierced the old wolf, burning with brutal warning. He radiated raw power, a storm contained only by iron will.

Nuri’s chest heaved. Her fingers trembled, claws barely restrained. Blood slicked her skin. But she straightened, steadying the fire burning in her bones.

She would not break.

Kalmin’s eyes never left her, fierce and fierce alone—an unspoken vow that she was not alone, even if he could not fight for her.

Nuri’s breath came ragged, the burning bite on her shoulder a furious reminder of the stakes. Pain screamed through her veins, but it sharpened her mind instead of breaking it. The wolf inside her surged with a new strength—a tempest unleashed.

She shook off the sting, clawed hands flexing. Every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. The old wolf snarled, circling with cautious respect now, sensing the storm behind her eyes.

Then with a fierce cry—a raw, unbroken howl—Nuri lunged forward. She struck with precision and power honed from every trial, every scar, every silent promise to herself. She caught the old wolf’s flank, driving it to the ground with a brutal twist that rattled the arena walls.

The wolf scrambled, fought to rise, but Nuri’s weight pinned it hard—unyielding, relentless. Her eyes blazed with fierce victory, glowing with the wild spirit of a true warrior.

Moira’s voice cut through the silence like steel. “Candidate Nuri. Testing complete.”

Kalmin’s jaw clenched tight, pride and relief rippling through him as he bowed his head—not just to the victor in the arena, but to the storm that had risen within his mate.

Nuri’s breath slowed, but the fire inside her still roared. She had won. On her own terms.