Chapter Six

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.