Chapter 175
The morning sun filtered through the canopy above the training grounds, casting a golden mosaic over the worn patches of earth where the junior ambassadors sparred. Dew clung to the grass, glistening like scattered diamonds. Anna stood across from me, grinning, her stance already locked and ready.
“Ready to get your butt kicked again?” she asked, tying her dark curls into a tight ponytail. There was a glint in her eye—playful, challenging.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the soreness of yesterday’s training but grinning through it. “In your dreams, Anna.”
We lunged at each other, our bodies moving with an ease born from weeks of practice. My muscles strained as I blocked her blows, countered her strikes, and spun away from her sweeping kick. She was fast—deceptively so—but I was learning to keep up. Training with Anna had become a ritual I looked forward to, one that grounded me. We weren’t just trading blows anymore; we were learning each other’s rhythms, adapting in real-time, moving like mirrors.
After what felt like hours, we collapsed onto the cool grass, laughing, our chests rising and falling in tandem.
“You’re getting better,” she said between breaths, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow.
I glanced at her, breathless but proud. “Thanks to you. You’re relentless.”
She shrugged, grinning. “You bring out my competitive side. But seriously, I’m glad we got paired up.”
I smiled, the warmth in my chest spreading. “Me too.”
Our friendship had grown like ivy—quietly, persistently, wrapping around the parts of me that had felt isolated since arriving. Anna was my anchor amidst the pressure, the tests, the stifling expectation to be perfect in every way. She was loyal, honest, and best of all, she didn’t expect me to be someone I wasn’t.
Later, in the polished silence of the strategy room, I sat beside Alex, who was already poring over a map dotted with red markers and miniature flag pins. His brow was furrowed in thought, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up just enough to show a thin line of a scar on his forearm.
“Hey,” I said, settling into my seat.
He looked up, his expression relaxing. “Hey, Astrid. Ready to strategize our pretend war again?”
I smirked. “Only if I get to beat you this time.”
Alex chuckled, tapping one of the markers. “Unlikely. But you’re welcome to try.”
We dove into our simulated crisis, outlining supply routes, alliance negotiations, and surprise attacks. Watching Alex work was fascinating—he saw connections no one else did, anticipated moves like he’d lived ten lifetimes in politics.
“You’re really good at this,” I told him during a short break, stretching my stiff shoulders.
He offered a modest shrug. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
I tilted my head. “Practice from where? Your dad’s a general or something?”
He paused, the light in his eyes dimming for a fraction of a second. “Something like that.”
“Someone important then?” I pressed gently, curious.
He hesitated. “Let’s just say… in some packs, my family name means a lot. I try not to ride on it.”
It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but I respected the boundary. There was a quiet weight to the way he spoke—a heaviness that made me wonder what expectations he carried.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The air inside the dormitory felt too still, too suffocating. I grabbed my hoodie and slipped outside, walking barefoot through the sleeping grounds. The sky above was velvet black, punctured with stars, and the moon cast a silver glow across the path leading to the grove I’d claimed as my own.
I crouched in the clearing, inhaling the sharp scent of pine and earth. Then I let the energy rise.
It came like a tide, slow but unstoppable. I focused on my breath, guiding it. My fingers tingled, then glowed with pale blue light. I shaped the energy, forming swirls and lines that shimmered in the air before fading like embers. My control had grown since I started practicing in secret, but it was still a delicate balance—not just power, but emotion. Fear made the energy spike, sadness made it cold.
“You really are full of surprises,” said a voice behind me.
I jerked around, the glow vanishing from my fingers in a sharp burst. Anna stepped into the clearing, her eyes wide but not fearful—just awestruck.
“Anna!” I hissed, heart pounding. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to sneak up,” she said quickly, hands raised. “I couldn’t sleep. I saw you leave, and… I followed. I didn’t know you could do… that.”
I swallowed hard, bracing for the usual fear, the suspicion, the questions.
“It’s… part of me,” I admitted. “I’ve always had it, but I don’t know what it is exactly. It’s not just werewolf magic. It’s something older. Wilder.”
Anna stepped closer and sat beside me on the mossy rock. “Why keep it secret?”
I looked away. “Because I don’t want to be the next case study. Or worse—labeled as dangerous.”
She was quiet for a beat, then said, “You can trust me, Astrid.”
And I believed her. Maybe it was the weeks of shared training, or the way she never flinched from who I was, but something in me unraveled. I told her everything—how I’d burned the leaves when I was ten and how my mother had cried in silence afterward. How I used to think the glow in my hands was a curse. How the power sometimes whispered things I didn’t understand.
When I finished, she exhaled, eyes thoughtful. “You know what I think? I think whatever this is… it chose you. And maybe it’s about time you stopped hiding from it.”
I stared at her, surprised. “You don’t think I’m a freak?”
She snorted. “Please. You’ve seen how I eat spaghetti. I’m the real freak here.”
We laughed, and something inside me loosened—a knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying since the day I arrived.
Over the following days, our bond deepened. Training became more than just drills—it was banter, late-night confessions, moments of silence that didn’t feel empty. We’d sneak snacks into our dorms, stay up talking about crushes and childhood stories and what we feared most. Anna, despite her confident exterior, was afraid of being forgotten. I was afraid of being known.
Alex, on the other hand, remained a puzzle. In strategy class, he let his guard down just enough for me to catch glimpses of the boy beneath the polished surface—the one who flinched when someone raised their voice, the one who clenched his fists when the word “honor” was mentioned. There was something royal about him, in the way he held himself, in the weight of his silences.
And though I never said it aloud, I noticed how Jeremiah had started avoiding me again. His presence, once so overwhelming, had faded into a distant thrum. I only caught glimpses of him now—across the courtyard, at the edge of the training field. His expression unreadable, his body tense like a coiled spring.
But I didn’t chase after him.
I was learning to stand on my own.
I was learning what it meant to trust people who chose me, not because of power or bloodline, but because of who I was underneath it all.
In the quiet moments between drills and classes, in shared laughter and midnight confessions, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—belonging.
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