All Chapters of ALPHA ACADEMY:MARKED BY FOUR: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Lyra didn’t expect the summons to come so soon. Barely a day had passed since Ronan’s test — since that surge of power that had nearly bound them both. Her hands still trembled remembering their synced heartbeats, the mark pulsing in rhythm with his fury. She’d promised herself rest. A single day of calm before the next storm. But at dawn, a message arrived: “Professor Vale requests your presence. Council observation required.” By the time she finished reading, the guards were already outside her door. *** The Council chamber wasn’t like the classrooms. It felt ancient — carved from black stone, the walls lined with torches that spat faint blue fire. The air carried dust and judgment. A sigil of the moon loomed above the dais, silver dulled by time. Vale stood in the center, coat unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled enough to expose the veins on his forearms. He looked calm, too calm. But when his eyes found hers, something flickered — warning, maybe recognition. “Miss H

Midnight came like a held breath. The silver clock on Lyra’s wall ticked once, then stopped. Runes along the sealed window flickered and died, one by one, until the room was swallowed in quiet. Even the air seemed to hold still, as if the Academy were listening. Lyra pressed a hand to her heart. The mark pulsed beneath her skin in slow waves of light, faint gold threading through her fingers. Not fear this time—purpose. She pulled on boots and cloak. The candle Cassian had left had burned to a golden stub. The room smelled of wax, stone, and something colder—magic thinning into silence. Exactly at midnight, she moved. The corridor was deserted. Lantern glass was still warm where flames had been snuffed. Shadows pooled in the alcoves. Every step echoed too loud. Every breath felt borrowed. By the time she reached the archives, her palms were lit softly, enough to guide her through the dust-heavy dark. Vale was waiting. He stood beside the statue of the First Alpha, half-hidden

The forest was not silent. It breathed—slow and deep—through the fog that clung to the trees like ghosts unwilling to leave. The light around Lyra shimmered in pulses, the same rhythm as her heartbeat, as if the earth itself was syncing with her. Every mark on her hands burned faintly gold, threads of ancient power winding through her veins. Vale stood in front of her, chest rising and falling, claws half-formed, eyes fixed on the figure ahead. The being did not move. It was made of moonlight and shadow both, its voice a low harmony that seemed to echo from every direction. “Daughter of the First Blood,” it said again, softer this time. “The seal weakens.” Lyra swallowed, her throat dry. “Who are you?” The figure’s face flickered between human and something older—eyes like twin stars, mouth curved in sorrow. “Once, they called me Eryndor. I am what remains of the Keeper—the first to swear fealty to the blood that birthed wolves.” Vale tensed. “You shouldn’t exist.” “And yet,”

The first horn split the morning air like a blade. Low, deep, and ancient — the sound of pursuit. Lyra jolted upright. The cave was darker than before, but outside, the forest burned gold with dawn. Vale was already on his feet, his shirt hastily tied where she’d healed him. His expression was grim. “They’ve started the hunt,” he said. She scrambled up, the blanket falling away. “The Council?” He nodded. “They’ll have marked your energy. Once the sun’s up, every Alpha within fifty miles will know exactly where you are.” Her pulse stumbled. “Then we run.” He didn’t argue. For once, Vale didn’t lecture or hesitate — just grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the narrow path outside the cave. His grip was steady, firm, but not cruel. The forest seemed to lean in as they moved, branches whispering, roots shifting beneath their boots like they wanted to slow them down. “Where are we going?” she asked, breath sharp in her throat. “North. There’s a warding circle beyond the ridge.

The Great Hall of the Council was carved from obsidian and shadow. Every inch of it hummed with restrained power — the kind that didn’t need to roar to remind the world who ruled it. Torches burned with silver flame along the walls, casting the twelve seated Alphas in pale, shifting light. The air smelled of burnt sage and iron. At the center of the long table sat Alpha Magnus Veyr, his jaw square, his eyes the same storm-gray as his son’s — though colder, older, and void of mercy. His heavy ring, etched with the royal crest, clicked against the armrest with every impatient tap. “Three days,” he said, voice low but lethal. “Three days since the surge, and still the Warding Circle stands. Still the girl lives.” No one dared answer. The silence stretched until he slammed his hand against the table. “Speak!” One of the older Alphas flinched. “The scouts sent into the forest never returned, my lord. The barrier repelled even our strongest. Whatever power the girl commands—it isn’t w