Chapter 4: The Academy’s First Omega

I had no idea how much time had passed, but when I finally found the right hallway, my mind was still trapped in the shadows of that encounter. My thoughts tangled between panic and curiosity.

“What trial were they talking about? Who was “the girl” they mentioned? And who was he?”

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside just as I reached the Dean of Student Affairs' office.

And that was when I noticed them, the way the students walked past me, tall and poised, their confidence carved into every movement, their very presence exuding power, the kind I would never have. I was told to wait outside.

I kept my hands in my lap, pressing my nails into my palms, willing myself not to fidget, not to let the weight of their gazes sink beneath my skin. But I could feel them judging me. I didn’t need to hear their whispers to know what they were thinking, but yet, they whispered anyway.

"She doesn’t belong here."

"An Omega? Here?"

"Must be some mistake."

"Why is an Omega here?"

Their laughter followed, like they were mocking me. As if the very idea of me standing in this place was a joke they all found endlessly amusing.

I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my head down, keeping my feet still even when every part of me itched to leave, to run. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

"Strength is not always in power, aubrey. Sometimes, it is in knowing when to endure."

My aunt’s voice echoed in my head, wrapping around me like a shield. So I clenched my fists beneath my sleeves, swallowed the lump in my throat, and endured. I looked up just as the oak doors of the office opened. A woman stepped out with the kind of effortless authority that made people move out of her way without thinking. “ You must be Miss Sinclair?”

I scrambled to my feet, my palms damp where they had been pressed against my thighs. "Yes, ma’am."

She glanced at the watch strapped to her wrist before lifting her gaze back to mine. “Apologies for keeping you waiting. I am Mrs. Evelyn Harrington, the dean of Student Affairs.” She said, though her words were polite, but there was no real remorse behind them. As if my time, my existence was of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. She turned on her heel and strode towards the office door. "Come in."

I followed, inside and her office was vast but cluttered, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and polished wood. Bookshelves towered against the walls, stuffed with ancient tomes and bound records, their spines worn from time.

Mrs. Harrington moved with purpose, pulling out the chair behind the desk as she flipped open the register, her fingers skimming the yellowed pages. I stood stiffly before her, waiting for her to say something, but a frown flickered across her face as her eyes scanned whatever was written, but then, she read aloud.

"Aubrey Sinclair. Age eighteen. Resides in Ravenshire with her guardian, Eleanor Sinclair."

Her gaze flickered up, assessing me before it dropped back to the page.

"Omega." The word lingered, settling between us like an iron weight. She didn’t say it with disdain, but the hesitation was enough. She continued reading.

"Physical strength: Below average. Combat skills: None. Pack affiliation: None. Magic affinity: N/A. Speed, endurance, stamina—" She stopped, exhaling through her nose. “Your weaknesses are… extensive.”

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to hold her gaze.

"And yet," she went on, tilting her head slightly, "you scored forty-six percent on the Ashwood Entrance Exam. Strength, intelligence, supernatural knowledge… That is considerably high for an Omega."

I nodded once. "I studied hard."

She hummed, shutting the register with a soft thud.

"No Omega has ever got admission at Ashwood before, Miss Sinclair, even fewer have been granted a full scholarship. Do you understand the weight of that?"

I swallowed. "Yes, ma’am."

Mrs. Harrington studied me for a moment longer. Then, she leaned back in her chair, hands folding together on the desk.

“ My job is to ensure that every student at Ashwood maintains the discipline and excellence this academy is known for.” A pause. Then, a sharp look. “This is not an easy place to exist, Miss Sinclair. Even less so for someone like you.”

I knew that already. I had felt it the moment I stepped through the gates. Felt it just moments ago.

Mrs. Harrington set down the thick, leather-bound book with a decisive thud, and it was Ashwood academy’s rule book, and she started reading to me, and twelve pages after it still going... My head was spinning with them, each one more rigid than the last.

“No wandering the grounds after curfew. No unsanctioned duels between students. No stepping foot in the restricted archives without express permission. No unapproved interactions between certain ranks outside academic settings. No challenging the authority of the faculty, the Council, or the Headmistress. No, no, no.”

It wasn’t just the sheer length of the rules—it was the way they were written, woven so tightly into the very core of Ashwood that breaking even one seemed like it would bring about something far worse than a simple punishment. I wasn’t naive. This wasn’t a normal school with normal rules. Here, rules weren’t just guidelines. They were law.

Mrs. Harrington shut the book, exhaling through her nose as she lifted her gaze to mine.

"Now," she said, "your dormitory assignment is temporary." she stood, retrieving a set of keys from the desk. "Dormitories at Ashwood are assigned based on hierarchy, status, and family name. You, Miss Sinclair, have none of the three."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. She spoke as if it was just another fact, like the sky was blue or that the sun rose in the east. But that fact had weight. It meant that, in their eyes, I had no place here.

"Normally, students of the same rank share accommodation," she continued. "Betas with betas, deltas with deltas and alphas...they tend to stay alone. However, since you are the only Omega, there is no designated space for you."

She took a brief pause before speaking again.

"You will be placed with a Delta until a more suitable arrangement is found."

A Delta, not the worst, but certainly not great. Deltas were above Omegas, below Betas—a middle ground where students who weren’t born into power but weren’t entirely powerless found themselves. The thought settled uneasily in my stomach.

I nodded my head simply. She turned, expecting me to follow as she strode out of the office. I hurried to keep up as she led me through the dim corridors of Ashwood, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and faint embers from distant fireplaces.

As we walked, she continued speaking,

"There is an enforced curfew at Ashwood. You are expected to be inside your dormitory by ten o’clock sharp. Any student found wandering after hours without valid reason will be subject to disciplinary action."

I nodded stiffly, my grip tightening on my bag.

"Attendance at all classes is mandatory," she went on. "Failure to maintain a passing grade will result in consequences."

She didn’t elaborate further about the consequences, but something in her voice told me I didn’t want to find out what they were. She stopped before a tall wooden door, and pulled a single key from the ring and handed it to me. "This will be your room for now. Any questions?"

“Um, No,’’

“Good and do not make me regret this placement, Miss Sinclair.”

She turned and strode away. I exhaled, long and slow, as I slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was modest but comfortable, with dark wooden floors and stone walls softened by thick, velvet curtains. A large window overlooked the courtyard, where the mist curled lazily around the ancient statues below. The scent of fresh linen and parchment lingered in the air, and on the neatly made bed beside the door, a folded uniform lay waiting.

Ashwood’s colors, black and deep forest green, adorned the fabric, the crest embroidered in silver thread over the left breast. I reached out, running my fingers over the material, feeling the weight of it between my fingertips. It was real. I was here.

A sharp knock rattled the door before it burst open.

"Alright, let’s see what we’re working with—"

The girl who entered stopped mid-step, blinking at me like I was an unexpected plot twist in her favourite book.

I blinked back.

She tilted her head, her auburn ponytail swishing over her shoulder. "Huh. I was expecting someone… shorter?"

I had no idea what to say to that.

Before I could find words, she was already moving, tossing an expensive leather bag onto her bed and flopping onto the mattress with zero grace, " Ingrid Morrow from Sky Night Pack. I am a Delta, daughter of Kendrick Morrow council member. And I am an occasional troublemaker, but only in the most charming way possible." She grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. "And you must be my temporary new roommate."

I hesitated, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Aubrey Sinclair," I offered. "I, uh… live in Ravenshire."

The moment the words left my lips, her eyes widened. Then, realization dawned on her.

"Wait!!!! You’re the Omega everyone’s been talking about?"

I didn't realize till now that my arrival at the Ashwood academy would become the hot topic.

"Oh my god, I have a celebrity for a roommate." She grabbed her pillow and screamed into it before looking back up at me, eyes practically sparkling. "This is the best thing that’s happened to me all week. No—all year."

I frowned, completely thrown off. "You're… not weirded out?"

"Weirded out? Babe, I live for this kind of drama. An Omega at Ashwood? That’s never happened before! People are losing their minds!" She sat up suddenly, crossing her legs. "Tell me, do you have some secret royal lineage? Are you secretly a spy? Or maybe a long-lost princess?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you here to assassinate someone?"

I gave her a blank stare. "I passed the entrance exam."

She groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "Ugh, how boring."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. At least she wasn’t looking at me like I was something strange and out of place. Well...she was, but not in the way everyone else had.

Ingrid suddenly sat up again, clapping her hands together. "Alright! You’ve been through enough trauma for one day. So, here’s the plan: You’re going to put on that uniform, and I’m giving you the grand tour. You’ll never survive this place if you don’t know how it works."

I glanced at the uniform. "I was going to unpack first—"

"Unpacking’s for people with stability," she cut in, waving a dismissive hand. "And considering they’ll probably kick you out of this room in a week, let’s not get too attached."

I hesitated, looking down at the uniform in my arms. "I don’t think—"

"That wasn’t a request," she interrupted again, grinning as she pointed dramatically to the bathroom. "Go forth, Sinclair. Change your battle armor."

I exhaled sharply but decided there was no point arguing. She was right about one thing: I needed to understand Ashwood if I was going to last here. So, without another word, I changed into the uniform,

.

She gave me an approving once-over. "Not bad. You almost look like you belong."

I raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

She grinned. "The way you stand screams newbie. We’ll fix that."

I didn’t know whether to thank her or be insulted.

Before I could decide, she grabbed my wrist and yanked me out the door. "Alright, tour time! Keep up, Sinclair. I don’t go slow."

Ashwood was a labyrinth of stone corridors and towering archways, each turn revealing more of its ancient grandeur. She led me through it with the ease of someone who had walked these halls a thousand times, speaking with the kind of rapid energy that made it hard to keep up.

"The academy was founded in 1678 by the Council, back when our kind still ruled from the shadows," she explained, gesturing to the towering portraits lining the walls. "The strongest bloodlines have walked these halls: Alphas, warriors, heirs. Tradition runs deep here. Very deep."

I took in the candlelit chandeliers casting gold light against the high ceilings, the ivy-draped pillars that framed the open courtyard. Every inch of Ashwood whispered of power, of history. Of blood spilt in the name of legacy.

"There are four wings," she continued, pointing as we passed through an arched corridor. "The north wing is for academic studies. East is combat training and strategy. West holds the restricted archives and faculty quarters...don’t even think about sneaking in there. And the South wing…" She wiggled her eyebrows. "That’s where all the fun happens."

"Fun?" I echoed, wary.

She smirked. "Let’s just say not every rule in that twelve-page handbook they gave you is strictly enforced."

I frowned. "What kind of rules are we talking about?"

Ingrid gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh no, is our little Omega afraid of breaking the rules?" She gave me a sly grin. "Don’t worry, Sinclair. I’ll corrupt you gently."

Before I could respond, a sharp chime rang through the air. A voice crackled over the intercom, firm and commanding.

"All students are to report to the Assembly Hall immediately."

Ingrid exhaled through her nose. "Guess the tour’s being cut short."

She nudged my arm, her tone laced with amusement. "Come on, Sinclair. Time to see what all the fuss is about."