The howl faded into the night, leaving Elara's heart pounding in her chest. She stood frozen by the fountain, her fingers still clutching her pendant, its warmth a strange comfort against the cold air. Eldric watched her, his silver-streaked hair catching the moonlight, his sharp eyes waiting for an answer. "I… I need to think—" she'd started to say, but that howl had cut her off, sending a shiver down her spine. It wasn't a normal wolf's howl—it sounded wild, almost angry, like a warning.
Eldric tilted his head, listening, then nodded like he'd heard it before. "That's a rogue," he said, his voice low. "They've been getting bolder lately. All the more reason for you to learn how to fight, girl." He crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "So, what's it gonna be? You in, or you out?"
Elara's mind raced. A rogue wolf? She'd heard stories about them—wolves who didn't belong to any pack, who lived by their own rules, often dangerous ones. The thought of facing something like that made her stomach twist, but it also lit a spark inside her. If she was going to stay here, if she was going to prove Darius and everyone else wrong, she couldn't keep running from her fears. She looked at Eldric, her jaw tightening. "I'm in," she said, her voice still shaky but firm. "But I'm not promising I'll be any good at this."
Eldric's lips twitched into a small smile. "Good enough for me. Meet me at the clearing behind the fortress at dawn. Don't be late." He turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Elara alone with her thoughts. She took a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, and headed back to the guest quarters. Sleep didn't come easy that night—every time she closed her eyes, she saw Darius's cold stare, heard the whispers of "weakling" echoing in her ears. But she also felt that spark, that tiny flame of hope Eldric had seen in her. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could be more.
Dawn came too soon, the sky a pale gray as Elara slipped out of the fortress and made her way to the clearing. The ground was hard, patches of frost crunching under her boots, and the air was so cold it bit at her cheeks. She'd swapped her gown for a simple tunic and pants, her pendant tucked under her shirt, its weight a quiet reminder of why she was here. Eldric was already waiting, leaning against a tree with a wooden staff in his hand. He tossed another staff to her as she approached. "Show me what you've got," he said, his tone gruff but not unkind.
Elara caught the staff, barely, her hands clumsy from nerves. She'd never fought before, not really—just play fights with Mira when they were pups, and those usually ended with her on the ground, laughing. This was different. She squared her shoulders, trying to look braver than she felt. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted, her voice small.
"Then you'll learn," Eldric said, stepping forward. "First lesson—don't think too much. Let your wolf guide you." He swung his staff without warning, and Elara yelped, barely getting her own staff up in time to block it. The impact sent a jolt up her arms, and she stumbled back, her grip slipping. "Move your feet!" Eldric barked, swinging again. She tried to dodge, but she was too slow, and the staff clipped her shoulder, sending her sprawling to the ground.
Her palms scraped against the dirt, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The pain wasn't even the worst part—it was the laughter. A small group of Nightclaw wolves had gathered at the edge of the clearing, their snickers cutting through the morning air. "Look at the rejected omega," one of them called, a tall she-wolf with sharp eyes. "Thinks she can fight now." The others laughed, and Elara's face burned, her chest tightening with shame. She wanted to run, to hide, but she couldn't—not again.
"Get up," Eldric said, his voice firm. "You don't stop until you can't move." Elara pushed herself to her feet, her jaw clenched, and grabbed the staff. They went at it again, and again, Eldric's strikes fast and relentless. She fell more times than she could count, her arms aching, her breath coming in gasps. But each time, she got back up, her hands shaking but her eyes fierce. She wasn't good—she knew that—but she wasn't going to let them see her break.
From the edge of the clearing, Darius watched, his storm-gray eyes unreadable. He'd come to check on the training grounds, or so he told himself, but his gaze kept drifting to Elara. The way she moved, clumsy but determined, stirred something in him. The mate bond hummed in his chest, a golden heat that made his skin prickle. She was covered in dirt, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, but there was a fire in her that he hadn't expected. He could almost imagine stepping closer, brushing the dirt from her cheek, feeling her warmth under his hands. His body heated at the thought, his wolf growling low, but he forced himself to turn away, his jaw tight. She wasn't his luna. She couldn't be.
Elara felt his stare, a heavy weight that made her heart race even as she blocked another of Eldric's strikes. She glanced over, catching Darius's gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. His eyes were intense, burning into her, and she could almost feel his breath on her neck, his hands pulling her close. Her body warmed, a flush creeping up her cheeks, but then he turned away, his broad shoulders stiff as he walked off. The rejection stung all over again, but it also lit a fire in her. She'd make him see her—really see her.
"Focus!" Eldric snapped, his staff coming down hard. Elara blocked it this time, her arms trembling but holding steady. "Better," he grunted, stepping back. "You've got a long way to go, but you're not hopeless." Elara managed a small smile, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. The Nightclaw wolves were still watching, their laughter quieter now, but she could still feel their judgment. She didn't care. She was here for herself, not them.
A familiar laugh broke through the tension, and Elara turned to see Mira jogging toward the clearing, her red curls bouncing. "El, you look like you've been rolling in the dirt!" she called, her grin wide. She stopped beside Elara, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Thought you could use a friend. Plus, I wanna see you kick some butt." Elara laughed, the sound shaky but real, and for the first time that morning, she felt a little lighter.
Mira grabbed a staff from the pile Eldric had brought, twirling it with a confidence Elara envied. "Let's spar," she said, winking. "I'll go easy on you." Elara rolled her eyes but nodded, grateful for the distraction. They faced off, circling each other, and Mira lunged first, her staff swinging low. Elara dodged, her movements still clumsy but faster than before. She swung back, catching Mira's staff with her own, and the two of them laughed as they traded blows, more playful than serious. For a moment, Elara forgot about the Nightclaw wolves, forgot about Darius, forgot about everything except the feel of the staff in her hands and the friend at her side.
But then another howl echoed through the forest, closer this time, and Elara froze, her staff mid-swing. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and her pendant pulsed, warm against her skin, as she—