CHAPTER EIGHT

Lyra's POV

“Time to take you to the next level of training,” Alpha Kael said. I had become used to his words as there's one thing that I know about Alpha Kael, it's the ability to bring in shocks.

I nodded my head as I pondered if there would be any training as gruesome and tiring as the training I had received in the past six months.

We stood at the borderlands, the gap between the rogues and Ironclaw pack as Alpha Kael made a statement that made me startled for a bit.

"Prove you can survive without the pack's protection. Return stronger, or don't return at all." Leaving me with those words.

Six months of brutal training had reshaped me into something unrecognizable. My body bore scars like badges—a jagged line across my ribs where I'd learned about guarding my weak points, claw marks on my shoulder from the lesson about never turning your back, a thin slash across my cheekbone that reminded me speed mattered more than strength. The frightened omega who had been chased from the Blackfang pack was gone, buried beneath strength, discipline, and a will forged in blood and sweat.

But standing alone in the wasteland between territories, I felt something I hadn't expected: kinship.

These were my people now. The forgotten ones.

The first challenge came on my second night.

I'd made camp in the ruins of an abandoned den, building a small fire to ward off the cold. The attack was swift but not silent—three rogues, testing me, seeing if I was easy prey. The old me would have been. In this one, I was the predator they hadn't anticipated.

The fight was over in minutes. I stood over them, not with my foot on their throats, but with my hand extended.

"Get up," I said. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to survive. You can help with that or get in the way."

The largest one, a massive male with scars all over his body, stared at my hand with raised eyebrows. Then, slowly, he took it.

"Name's Rook," he said, his voice cold. "You fight like an Alpha."

"I fight like someone who refuses to give up." I released his hand. "What are you doing out here?"

His expression darkened. "Refused to execute a she-wolf my Alpha claimed was a traitor. She wasn't. He just didn't like that she questioned him." He spat into the dirt. "Got exiled for having a conscience.”

I recognized the bitterness in his voice because I had experienced it firsthand.

How many more like you are out here?” I asked.

"Hundreds. Maybe thousands." Rook gestured to the wilderness around us. "Every pack's dirty secret. The ones who didn't fit, didn't submit, didn't die when they were supposed to."

Something popped in my mind then, an idea that felt both dangerous and inevitable. "Take me to them."

Word spread through the rogue networks like wildfire. They came to test me, one by one, expecting to prove themselves against someone who'd clearly gotten training way above her rank.

I defeated them all.

Not through brute strength—I'd never have that. But through the lessons Kael had taught me: anticipation, strategy, turning their expectations into weapons.

They expected weakness where I had strong will. They expected submission when I had been trained on mastering the craft efficiently.

After the fifth challenger fell, they stopped seeing me as prey.

The twins came next. Ash and Ember, born to rogue parents in these lawless lands, knowing nothing of pack structure or the ranks. They moved like mirror images, fighting in perfect synchronization, their coordination beautiful and deadly.

They lasted longer than the others. When I finally pinned them both, I was bleeding from many places and grinning like a feral animal.

"Teach us that," Ember demanded, grey eyes blazing. "Whatever made you that fast, that precise. Teach us."

"Why would I?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Because you're like us," Ash said quietly.

"I can't promise you comfort," I said, looking between them. "I can't promise easy victories or that following me won't get you killed."

"What can you promise?" Ember challenged.

"Purpose. Dignity. The chance to become more than what the pack decided you should be." I met their eyes steadily. "I can teach you to fight like you matter. Because you do."

The twins exchanged a glance that could only be understood by them. Then, in unison, they nodded.

Others followed. A young male named Flint who'd been cast out for being born with a twisted leg that healed wrong—not knowing that his mind was as sharp and could be used as a weapon

An older she-wolf called Sage who'd lost her entire pack to a pack war and refused to bend knee to the conquerors. A scarred warrior named Thorn who'd killed his own Alpha in self-defense and been marked for death.

Each carried wounds, visible and otherwise. Each had been deemed unworthy by someone, somewhere. Each had survived anyway.

We gathered in the ruins of what had once been a thriving den, before some long-forgotten war had turned it to rubble. Twenty wolves sat in a circle, looking at me with expressions ranging from hope to suspicion to hunger.

I stood in the center, feeling the weight of their attention like a physical thing.

"I'm not an Alpha," I began. "I won't pretend to be. I'm an omega who refused to die when her pack decided she was worthless. I'm a wolf who learned that strength isn't given—it's taken, forged, earned through blood and will."

"Then what are you?" Rook asked. "What are we doing here?"

"We're becoming something new." I looked around the circle, meeting each pair of eyes. "The packs cast us out because we are not in the same rank as them. Because we questioned, or failed, or disobeyed their orders They made us rogues because they thought that would break us."

I smiled, as a tender look was seen on my face. "They were wrong."

"So we train," Sage said slowly. "We become stronger."

The training began that night. Under moonlight, I taught them what Kael had taught me—that power wasn't about size or birthright, but about will and strategy. I watched Rook learn to use his massive frame with precision instead of just force. I saw the twins develop combination attacks that could send an Alpha flying. I guided Flint in leveraging his mind to compensate for his physical limitations.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

I'd come here seeking to prove myself, to survive alone in the wasteland. Instead, I'd found something I hadn't known I was searching for: purpose that went beyond revenge, beyond proving my worth to those who'd dismissed me.

These wolves—these forgotten, broken, beautiful survivors—they looked at me not with pity or disdain, but with respect. With trust.

One night, as we gathered around the fire after a brutal training session, Rook spoke the words that changed everything.

"You're our Alpha now, you know. Whether you claim the title or not."

I started to protest, but Sage shook her head. "He's right. Not because of birthright or tradition. Because we chose you. Because you chose us."

I looked around the circle at these warriors I'd helped forge, these wolves who'd become brave and were not afraid to tell the history of their scars as I became sober.

"I'm not your Alpha," I said softly. "I'm something better. I'm your packmate."

Ember grinned, as her eyes lit up. "Then I guess we're not rogues anymore, are we?"

"No," I said. "We're a pack. One that chose itself. One that no one can break."

And as the fire burned and my new family laughed and trained and planned around me, I realized I was no longer seeking revenge.

I was building an army.