Chapter 3

Over the next two weeks, I spent the $320 I earned from the border herb shop to buy basic purification vials.

On the cold floor of the storage room, I pulled three all-nighters, finished my independent potion report, and secretly submitted it to the National Young Potioneers Competition.

Three days after submission, my mentor called the Pack House landline.

He called three times just to ask my parents for a "sponsorship form" to verify my bloodline.

No one answered the first two times. My mother finally picked up the third time.

That night, my mother called me to the living room. Her face was terrifyingly dark.

"Your potion mentor called today. Said that independent report you submitted behind our backs passed the first round?" Mother Valerie frowned. There was no joy in her voice, only annoyance. "He said if you want to compete in the Nationals, you need the signature of the Pack Alpha or Luna to prove you're not a Rogue."

"Yes." I stood by the sofa and said quietly. "I bought the vials with my own money and did the report. If I win this national competition, I can get direct admission to other top academies."

My mother waved her hand in irritation.

"Freya, can you grow up? Your father is overwhelmed right now with the Pack's territory expansion. Where do we have the time to help the Alliance with tedious background checks? And fill out a bunch of sponsorship forms?"

Every time, her standard was whether it brought direct benefits to the Pack.

Chloe had a private meditation room and fixed practice hours because a High Healer could increase the survival rate of the whole pack.

Jace had expensive private tutors and tactical boots because he was the core fighter of the future.

But my potions, in their eyes, were just a useless, marginal hobby that only added to their paperwork.

"And you've skipped basic physical training several times lately." My mother complained. "Your sister practices healing spells for four hours a day, and she doesn't cause as much trouble as you."

"If you won't sign it, I'll figure it out myself." I didn't argue. My voice was calm.

"Whatever." My mother rubbed her temples. "Your sister's High Healer training class ends this weekend. Keep your schedule open. Go to the venue and help her carry her crystal cases."

I paused.

A familiar numbness washed over me, like a dried-up desert that would never see rain.

"Okay."

The next day, I knocked on my mentor's door.

"Freya, your parents..."

"They won't sign it, Professor."

He looked at me for three seconds. In those three seconds, there was disappointment, helplessness, and something else I couldn't read.

I only learned later that it was called "heartache."

"Sit down." He sighed. "Don't push yourself too hard."

He pulled a form from his drawer and slid it to me. It was an entry form for the National Young Potioneers Competition.

"Since the Crescent Falls Pack refuses to sponsor you, I'll sponsor you personally as an independent mentor. I'll handle the pressure from the Alliance."

I looked at the deadline on the form.

It was next week.

I nodded, folded the form, and put it in my pocket.

I learned later that at that exact moment, far away in the North at Winterhaven Academy, Silas, a distinguished professor, happened to open the online preliminary forum for the competition.

My anonymous report on "Cost-Effective Purification Efficiency of Wolfsbane" caught his eye.

Even then, that sharp, precise, and untamed logic had sparked interest in his deep eyes.

But I knew nothing about it at the time.

I went home and saw a row of shopping bags on the living room table.

My sister was trying on a new ceremonial robe, twirling in front of the mirror.

My brother was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling on his tablet, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, his socks pointing right at the fruit platter.

My mother was unboxing shoes. A pair of custom ceremonial dance shoes for my sister.

"These are softer. Try them on."

Chloe squatted down to change her shoes, took two steps, and tilted her head. "A little tight."

"We'll exchange them for a size up tomorrow. Freya, take your sister to get the dress altered tomorrow."

"I have a paper for the competition due tomorrow."

"Don't you just submit it online? You can write it on your tablet on the way to the tailor."

"It's 1500 words. Write it on a tablet?"

My mother finally looked up at me. Her gaze was light and dismissive, like she was looking at a low-ranking wolf throwing a tantrum.

"Can't you just cooperate? Your sister needs to wear those shoes for her Trials next week."

Always a trial. Always an exam.

Her trials, her robe, her crystals, her class.

Everything about me could be pushed into a corner, stuffed into the cracks.

Finished on a bumpy bus, squeezed into the gaps of other people's time.

"Okay."

I didn't say anything else and went back to my room.

I typed the report on my tablet in bed until 1 AM, revising it four times.

The next morning, I went out with dark circles under my eyes to take my sister for dress alterations.

She tried on five dresses at the tailor and finally picked the first one, altering it an inch longer.

The whole process took three hours.

On the bus back, she suddenly said, "Freya, your eyes are so red."

"Didn't sleep well."

"What were you writing last night? I walked past your door and heard you typing."

"A report for a competition."

Chloe tilted her head, looked at me, and after a while said:

"You know, you're really good at making potions. When I was seven and afraid of the dark, you boiled me that 'Starlight Potion' using glow-grass and moonstone dust. I still keep it. It works way better than the calming incenses from those High Healers."

She was seven. She was scared of the dark, so I secretly bought ingredients with my saved-up allowance and boiled it for three nights to make her a calming potion.

She still remembered.

"It's good that you remember."

The bus arrived. The doors opened.

She walked ahead and suddenly looked back.

"Freya, if you make any other fun glowing potions, let me know! I want to show them to my friends."

I looked at her back. The little princess held in the palm of the family's hands.

She wasn't a bad person.

She was even the only person in this house who would ask me, "Did you not sleep well?"

But she couldn't change anything. She just saw my hard work as a toy to show off. She didn't care how many times I blistered my hands working to buy those herbs.

Her kindness was like a piece of candy. It melted in your mouth for a moment, and once it was gone, the bitterness remained.

That night, I submitted the report.

Ten minutes before the deadline.

I checked for typos three times and hit send.

In the living room, my mother was using a moonstone to guide my sister through her pre-sleep Inner Wolf meditation. A soft glow lit up the corner of the sofa.

My brother was sprawled on the rug, blasting a tactical combat video on his tablet at full volume.

No one knew what I had just done.

And no one cared.