ARIA
No one can hear me.
Some choose to ignore me. Others mock me. But most just pretend I don't exist.
I was born in a world where wolves are defined by their voices—by their power, their roar, their command. I had none. And so, to them, I was nothing.
My name is Aria. And I've never spoken a single word.
Not because I don't want to. Because I can't.
Even now, as I sit beneath the old pine tree near the edge of my father's territory, the breeze plays in my silver-white hair, tugging at the loose ends like it wants to carry my unspoken thoughts somewhere—anywhere else. I hug my knees tighter to my chest, staring at the sliver of moonlight creeping through the canopy.
Tonight is my last night here. The final night in a place I never truly belonged in.
"Aria!" my stepmother's voice screeches from the packhouse. Her scent hits me before she does—overripe roses and resentment. "Get in here. I won't have you sulking under trees like some cursed pup."
I did not move.
Her footsteps stomp closer, and she grabs my arm, yanking me up. I don't resist. I learned long ago that silence can be its rebellion.
"You should be grateful your father pulled enough strings to send you off," she hisses. "The academy takes in warriors. Alphas. Not broken girls who can't even command a whisper."
I stare at her. She wants fear, shame, maybe tears.
All I give her is silence.
She scoffs and storms off, muttering curses about my mother. The mother I never knew. The mother who vanished shortly after I was born.
Sometimes I wonder if I remind my father of her.
I return to the packhouse quietly. My room is small, barely more than a cupboard, but it's mine. For tonight, at least.
It was already dinner time.
The dining room was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. It was the type of silence that crackled—strained and uncomfortable.
Aria took her usual place at the end of the long wooden table, furthest from her father. Her stepmother, Lady Maren, sat to his left, her fingers clinking against her wine glass in measured annoyance.
A few lower-ranked pack members filtered in and filled their plates. The chatter was low, careful. No one spoke to Aria. No one ever did.
Her father ate in silence, his eyes never meeting hers. He used to try, once. When she was younger. He'd sit beside her, brush her hair back, and call her his moonflower. But those days had withered like the flowers on her mother's grave.
Now, he couldn't even look at her.
"You'll leave at dawn," Maren said, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "Mooncrest will be the best place for you. They know how to handle… special cases."
The word hung in the air like poison.
Aria lowered her gaze, chewing slowly. The food tasted like ash in her mouth.
"You'll keep your head down. Stay out of trouble. Don't embarrass the pack," her father said at last, his voice hollow.
It was the first time he'd spoken to her in weeks. Her heart ached, not because of his words—but because they were so empty. So formal. As if she were a burden being shipped away.
She met his eyes, silently asking for something more.
He looked away.
I wait for him to say something. Anything.
But there's only silence.
Maren clicked her tongue and cut into her meat with too much force. "Honestly, this is a blessing. I think we've all needed some quiet around here."
A few low-ranking wolves nearby chuckled.
Aria's throat tightened, but she said nothing.
She never did.
Maren leaned in slightly, her voice a whisper meant to cut. "Your mother thought you were a gift from the Moon. You were her curse, Aria. And now, you're someone else's problem."
Something hot stirred in Aria's chest. Her hands curled around the edge of the table. The pressure in her bones from earlier that day—the flicker of her wolf—surged for a split second, but she forced it down.
Don't react. That was the rule. Always the rule.
Her father didn't defend her. Didn't reprimand Maren.
He stared into his drink, like the bottom of his glass was more worthy of his attention than his only daughter.
Aria rose from the table slowly, chair scraping back with a controlled motion. Eyes followed her, waiting for an outburst, for a slip in control.
But she said nothing.
She just left.
Silence, once again, was the loudest thing in the room.
The Mooncrest Academy crest lies folded on my bed—a dark navy uniform with silver embroidery and the outline of a full moon carved into the badge. It glows faintly under the candlelight. Beneath it, a letter sealed with red wax bears my name in perfect script.
Aria Nightshade.
I trace the letters with my fingertips, unsure how the invitation even reached me. I hadn't applied. I hadn't even believed I was worthy.
The academy is meant for the strongest shifters—those destined to become Alphas, warriors, and leaders. I've never even shifted once. Most wolves go through their first transformation by sixteen. I'm nineteen. Still… nothing.
Except for the occasional stir in my bones. Like something ancient is trapped inside, waiting.
Waiting for what?
When night deepens and the house grows quiet, I slip outside again. The wind is colder now, and the moon above seems brighter than usual—like it's watching me.
I let my bare feet touch the damp grass and walk out to the training field. It's empty, but the ghost of past footsteps lingers. Wolves who sparred, fought, won… or failed.
I stand there, eyes closed, imagining the kind of power it must feel to shift—to run wild beneath the stars, to howl without fear.
My hand tightens at my side. My heart aches with a strange pain. Not from fear. But from yearning. From a fire I don't know how to name.
And then… something happens.
A pulse.
A tremor beneath my skin, like thunder cracking through my bones.
My knees wobble, and I fall to the ground, gasping soundlessly. My wolf—silent for years—surges inside me like a tidal wave. My fingers claw into the dirt as heat spreads up my spine.
But before I can shift… it stops.
Just as quickly as it began.
I'm left panting, shaking, staring at the stars above as if they hold the answers.
Tomorrow, I'll leave this place.
Tomorrow, I begin again.
Maybe Mooncrest Academy will reject me too.
But something deep within me whispers otherwise.
Not with words. Not with sound.
But with instinct.
This time… the world will hear me.
I could feel it in the depths of my heart.