Luna's Pov:
Some mornings, the sun doesn't rise for me.
It drags itself over the horizon, spilling weak light across the rooftops, like it's too tired to care whether I see it. The Omega quarter always feels dimmer than the rest of the pack lands, as if the walls here have learned to drink the light and keep it for themselves. Maybe that's why the air tastes heavier. Stale. A little like regret.
I've lived in these shadows for seventeen years, long enough to know the way they cling to you like a second skin. You stop fighting them eventually. You learn to move with them. You learn to keep your head down when the light finds you by accident.
But no matter how much I bend, I never seem to fit into the shape they want for me.
I sit on the edge of my bed, bare feet on the cold floor, watching the faint frost clinging to the small window in my room. In the distance, I hear the echoes of the Alpha court coming to life, the polished clang of boots, the laughter of higher-ranked wolves whose lives will never brush against mine. My life runs on a different clock. For Omegas, every day starts early and ends with a silence heavy enough to crush you.
I run a brush through my hair, the bristles catching on tangles I'm too tired to fight. I think about leaving them there. Who am I trying to look decent for anyway? The ones who look at me don't see me. they see my mother's downfall stitched into my skin.
.....
I was four when it happened.
One moment I was standing in the great hall, holding my mother's hand so tightly my knuckles turned white. The next, the voices around us rose like a storm. Accusations. Gasps. Words too big for me to understand, but heavy enough to settle deep in my bones.
Her step sister — " my so-called aunt " stood before the council, her voice steady and cold. She told them my mother had betrayed the pack's laws, that her alliances were dangerous, that she was unfit to lead. The crowd believed her. Of course they did. The lies were wrapped in truth, and the truth was buried where no one cared to look.
I remember the sound more than the sight the slow murmur of wolves turning their backs on us, the scrape of boots on stone as they stepped away. And the smell the sharp, metallic bite of shame that clung to my mother's hair when she bent down to whisper, Don't cry, Luna.
But I did cry. And when the council stripped her of her title and cast her into the Omega ranks, they stripped me too.
Shame doesn't fade. It stains. Like blood.
.....
Today, like every day, I have to walk into the heart of the pack's territory the central court for the Alpha King's morning address. I pull on my cloak and keep my hood low. It's not to hide my face, but to avoid the eyes. The eyes are worse than words.
I take the narrow side paths, where the ground is uneven and the stones bite through thin soles. I pass two young she-wolves standing near a water trough. Selra, the bolder one, grins at me.
"Well, if it isn't the Omega Heir," she says loud enough for the entire row to hear.
The others laugh. that short, sharp kind of laugh that isn't about humor, just cruelty. I keep walking. My wolf stirs under my skin, restless, pushing for me to bare teeth, to do something. But I've learned that biting only gives them more blood to enjoy.
...
The crowd thickens near the court steps, and that's when I see her.
"Claire"
She parts the crowd like water, her smile bright, her arms already reaching for me as if she's been searching all morning.
"Luna, you're late," she says, touching my arm lightly. "Is everything alright?"
Her voice is warm enough to fool anyone listening, but warmth is a mask I've seen her wear before. Beneath it, her eyes glint like polished stone. Hard. Reflective. Cold.
I nod once. "I'm fine."
"You should stand by me. People won't bother you as much if you do."
I almost laugh at that. People don't bother me less when I'm near Claire they just lower their voices so she can feed them sweeter lies later. Still, I stay by her side. Not because I trust her, but because I need to hear what she says when she thinks I'm not paying attention.
...
The Alpha King's banners snap in the wind above us deep crimson slashed against black. My gaze lingers longer than I mean it to, and that's when I feel it.
A faint, steady heat pulsing from the center of my palm.
I flex my hand, keeping it hidden in the folds of my cloak. It's the same place the Crimson Mark lies, a birthmark shaped like a crescent that no one dares speak of anymore. I've felt it warm before, but only in dreams, and only when I was a child.
The heat grows when I sense movement to my right. Aezrel steps into the court.
He doesn't look at me right away. His focus is on the other Alphas gathered near the steps, his posture relaxed, his presence commanding in that effortless way only certain Alphas possess. When his gaze finally slides toward me, it's brief almost nothing, but the heat in my palm flares.
I turn away quickly. The last thing I need is for anyone to notice.
...
The Alpha King begins to speak about unity, about loyalty, about strength in the pack. His voice is steady, but the words feel hollow like they're meant for some other pack in some other life. Around me, heads nod in unison. No one questions him. No one questions anything here.
Not openly.
Beside me, Claire leans in to whisper something to the she-wolf on her other side. They glance at me, their expressions smooth as glass.
I look straight ahead. Let them think I don't see.
They think I've forgotten who I am.
They think they've buried me.
But ashes remember fire.
...
The day my life shattered didn't come with thunder or warning.
It came quietly like a knife sliding between my ribs before I even realized I was bleeding.
I woke to whispers outside my door, hushed voices with just enough venom to tell me they weren't meant for me to hear… and yet loud enough to make sure I did.
"Pathetic," someone said. "Follows Aezrel around like a lost pup. She's no heir. Just another Omega pretending she matters."
The second voice laughed. "She's nothing but her mother's shame wearing a younger face."
My hands clenched the blanket so tightly I thought the fabric would tear.
I knew that voice.
It was Claire.
I'd like to say I stormed out and confronted her, but truth is… I froze. The girl who once swore to guard my back was now sharpening the blade for it. And it wasn't just betrayal it was the precision of it. She wasn't trying to destroy me in a fit of rage. No. She was dismantling me piece by piece, so carefully the others could call it "truth" instead of malice.
And just so, here she go again ' publicly'
Like i pretend not...
And i face straight ahead as if nothing happened
By the time I finally stepped out into the morning light, the air around me was already heavy with judgment. Eyes tracked me like I was prey, not pack. Smirks tugged at lips when I passed. I could feel the stories spinning faster than I could run from them.
The worst part?
They believed her.
Of course they did. Claire has the kind of smile that makes people want to trust her, even while she's slipping poison into their cups.
But the rot in my life didn't start with Claire. It started seventeen years ago, when my mother's name was stripped of every ounce of respect she'd earned. My aunt had set the trap back then, and my mother proud, fierce, untouchable walked straight into it.
I remember the night we lost everything. The council's verdict was final, the accusations unshakable, and by the time we were allowed to walk away, our heads were bowed not in guilt, but in survival. From that night on, we were branded the outcasts who carried dishonor like a disease.
And now, as if the gods themselves have a taste for irony, I am walking her path.
But there's one thing no one here understands.
The prophecy that named me at birth, the Crimson Mark carved into my fate—wasn't given by accident. My blood carries the weight of an Alpha line. I was never meant to be small. Never meant to bow.
The only reason I haven't been crushed completely is because of Aezrel.
He's an Alpha through and through, sharp jaw, sharper mind, and a presence that makes the others go silent when he speaks. I've seen him defy his own brothers to stop a cruel word from reaching me. I've seen him look at me like I'm not the broken thing they say I am.
But I can't live on his protection forever. And I won't.
Because no one remembers that an Omega is still a wolf.
And a cornered wolf… bites.
They've taken my pride.
They've tried to take my voice.
But they will not take my future.
I will stand.
I will rise.
And when I do every single one of them will remember exactly who I am.
...
By the time the morning training bell rang, I had already decided today would be the day I stopped hiding in shadows that weren't even mine.
The training grounds smelled of dust and sweat. Wolves of every rank moved in synchronized sparring, their bodies bending and striking with a grace that came from years of knowing exactly who they were.
I envied that certainty.
Claire was there too, of course. She always made sure to stand where the crowd could see her hips tilted, hair loose, the picture of effortless beauty. A girl who could gut you with a smile and leave you thanking her for it. She glanced at me across the grounds, her lips curving into that mocking, perfect smirk.
"Luna," she called out in that honeyed voice that had once been my comfort. "Try not to faint today. We wouldn't want Aezrel thinking you need him to hold your hand every moment."
Laughter rippled through the group.
I felt it like a slap.
Not because of the words I'd heard worse but because Aezrel was standing there.
He didn't laugh. Didn't even blink. He just looked at me.
And in that look was a question I'd been avoiding: How long are you going to let them do this to you?
I stepped forward, ignoring the burn in my chest. "Pair me with her," I said to the trainer, my voice steady. "Claire and I haven't sparred in months. I think it's overdue."
A hush fell.
Even the trainer hesitated, glancing between us like he was deciding whether to stop a brawl before it started. But in the end, he nodded.
The first strike she threw was fast_faster than I remembered. But anger sharpens reflexes, and I blocked her easily.
"Careful," I said quietly, circling her. "Wouldn't want to ruin that perfect face before the audience gets a good look."
Her eyes narrowed, and she lunged again. This time, she caught me in the ribs with her elbow. Pain exploded through my side, but I didn't falter.
I let her think she'd won the moment let her smirk again — before I swept her legs from under her and pinned her to the ground, my knee at her throat.
The crowd went still.
She struggled, but I leaned in, my voice low enough that only she could hear.
"You took my pride. You won't take my place. Try again, Claire… and I'll show you what my mother taught me about wolves who bite."
When I stood, I didn't wait for applause or scorn. I walked off the field with my head high, every step daring anyone to meet my gaze.
Aezrel was waiting by the edge of the grounds. He didn't smile.
But the way his eyes met mine told me I'd just crossed an invisible line and there was no going back.
"You've woken something," he said softly. "Don't stop now."
I didn't plan to.
Because if I was going to reclaim my name, I'd need more than one small victory.
I'd need the truth about my mother's fall.
And I'd need to survive long enough to use it.