Chapter Sixteen

The sun dipped lower as the last training bell tolled — the clang of Evening Assessment Bouts (Dominance Clash).

With time and loud instructions from Instructor Mosely, Cadets formed two rows in the arena yard, shirts peeled off or tucked, boots grounded, scent glands opened wide.

It was the last drill of the day.

No blades. No fists.

Just scent. Will. And presence. Power.

A raw show of who had the stronger wolf.

Elowyn swallowed as Master Mosely paced between the lines. His voice boomed over the dirt:

“Dominance is not about brute strength. It’s about aura. Intent. Scent. Who rises when all else is silent.”

Pairs began to face off. One by one. Master Mosely called names.

Low growls thickened the air. The scent war grew hotter.

Some matches ended in seconds. A look, a glare, a drop to one knee. Others took minutes — throats tight, eyes locked, sweat and stubbornness keeping them standing.

Then....

“Cadet Froste.”

Elowyn’s name rang sharp.

“Step forward.”

She did.

The pit of her stomach dropped.

Her opponent? A wiry, sharp-jawed third-year named Vaxx. His nose flared like a bloodhound. He didn’t even glance at her.

He scented her.

Elowyn lowered her head, rolled her shoulders, tried to summon that fire inside — that wolf instinct.

But it didn’t come.

She pretended.

Baron’s balm still clung faintly to her body. The binding herb was already fading. Her chest ached. Her ribs felt hollow.

"Begin!"

Vaxx growled low, stepping into her space like a stormcloud.

Elowyn stood tall. She met his eyes. She tried to lift her energy.

But her body didn’t push.

Nothing came.

No dominance. No threat. No wolf. No rough emotions.

Vaxx sneered.

“You're empty.” He said, lowly.

Then he stepped even closer. His scent flooded her — peppery, sour, strong.

She coughed.

Wobbled.

Dropped.

Knee down. Head lowered.

Seconds.

Elowyn jumped back to her feet and cleared her throat.

Laughter echoed.

Snorts. “Figures.”

“That stick again.”

"Baron's charity case."

Master Mosely didn’t blink. He only raised a hand.

“Cadet Froste, aside. Next.”

Elowyn limped off the clash ring, chest burning — from shame, not effort. Her face was to the ground.

Then came the voice she dreaded.

Deep. Cold.

“Useless.”

Baron.

He didn’t say it loud.

But it cut.

She turned sharply. He didn’t look at her. Just shook his head and walked past.

Didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch.

Disgust laced his movement.

Elowyn stood frozen again, fists clenched at her sides.

She wasn’t weak.

She just wasn’t… a beast.

Not like them.

Not yet.

Maybe never.

But she wasn’t going to break tonight.

She had already cried once.

Now?

Now she just wanted silence.

Because if her wolf wasn’t strong enough to win…

She’d better learn how to survive without it.

★★★ ★★★

The sun stretched shyly over the academy's eastern wall, painting the courtyard in thin gold.

Elowyn moved quietly.

Drills were done. Her boots caked in sweat and dust. But she’d slipped from the rowdy crowd of cadets to walk alone. Just for a moment.

Just to breathe.

She knelt by the edge of the frontyard flowers — the only place where anything soft dared to grow. A patch of wildflowers peeked through a crack in a stone.

White, pink, green, blue, red and wild. Scented and still alive.

Elowyn reached out — not to pick them. Just to touch. Just to remember softness.

Then something fluttered down.

A bird. Tiny. Brown. Clumsy.

It landed on the rock near her hand and hopped once — fearless.

Her heart swelled.

“Hello there.” She whispered.

It blinked. Twitched its wings.

Then — a growl.

“Elites' evening prey.”

Her spine stiffened.

One of the cadets. A second-year. Big. Scarred. Armed with a catapult.

He moved — slow, sharp-eyed.

Elowyn’s body acted before her mind did.

She clapped her hands loud.

The bird shrieked and flew.

Gone.

The cadet’s eyes blazed.

“What the hell was that?!”

“I startled it.” She lied flatly. “It got too close to my face.”

The guy stepped forward, aggressive.

“You ruined my kill. That was mine.”

She slightly flinched. “It’s a bird.”

He shoved her shoulder, hard. “It was my bird!”

Voices turned from nearby cadets. Laughter.

“What’s going on?”

“Cadets fighting again?”

“Someone’s pissed about a feather snack.” A male from Elowyn's dining table earlier who had gotten her piece of chicken laughed.

The boy cursed under his breath. Then turned. Spat.

He cursed the guy who just spoke.

“Next time, scrawny. He'll break your fingers for fun and chew on them.”

Everyone stalked off.

Elowyn stood still.

Her heart pounded — not from the threat.

But from how badly she had almost gotten caught.

She’d defended a bird.

And no one here would understand.

She looked at the empty air the sparrow left behind.

She’d do it again.

Even if it got her killed.

It all reflected in her countenance.

★★★

★★★

The bell struck, echoing across the stone halls like a war drum. Cadets rushed into their quarters. The floor vibrated under dozens of boots as the last-minute stampede of male wolves shoved through the doors.

Elowyn entered quietly.

Her body ached.

Her ribs felt cracked all over again. Her head rang with Baron’s voice:

"Useless."

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. He sat on the edge of the sofa in the living room, shirt off, elbows resting on his knees. Azpen was beside him, arms folded, watching her like prey.

She moved toward her bedroom door. Slow. Limping.

“Stop." Baron said.

She paused.

“Face us." Azpen added.

She turned. Her heart was already out of beat.

Baron rose.

His eyes were unreadable — unreadable, but cold. Disgust deep in his jaw.

“You embarrassed the dorm and the pack that accepted you today.”

“I tried.... I really wanted....”

“You flopped. I warned you." He cut in. “And flopping means consequences.”

Azpen stood, stretched his fingers. “We're going to help your body learn. Properly. Since your wolf won’t rise, your muscles will.”

Elowyn’s heart thumped. “What do you mean?”

“Hands up.” Baron said flatly.

“No.”

Azpen stepped forward. “Hands up! Or I'll help you rip it off.”

Her hands trembled. She raised them up.

Azpen went and pulled a rope from under his table. He seemed to be enjoying the whole thing and sent a smirk Elowyn's way.

It was a very long rope. The thick kind. Worn from use.

“Hands up.” He ordered, again.

She didn’t move. She was terrified.