POV: Otto Moorland
The scholarship letter arrived on a Thursday, changing everything.
I sat at the kitchen table in our small farmhouse, reading the embossed Moonrise Academy crest for the third time, still not quite believing it was real. My hands shook slightly as I traced the words "full academic scholarship" with my fingertip.
"Otto?" Mom appeared in the doorway, flour dusting her apron from the bread she'd been baking. "What is it?"
I held up the letter wordlessly.
Her eyes widened as she read over my shoulder. Then she pulled me into a crushing hug that smelled like yeast and lavender soap.
"I knew it," she whispered fiercely. "I knew your brilliance would be recognized."
"It's just academics." I adjusted my glasses, a nervous habit I'd never managed to break. "The scholarship is need-based. They probably just needed to fill a quota."
"Otto James Moorland." She pulled back, gripping my shoulders. "Being different doesn't mean being less. Remember that."
I wanted to believe her. After eighteen years of being the disappointment, the gentle Omega son in a pack that needed warriors, it was hard to see myself as anything other than a liability.
"Does Dad know?" I asked.
Her expression flickered. "Not yet. He's out with the patrol, checking the northern boundary."
Of course he was. The Blackthorn pack had been encroaching on our territory for months, testing our defenses, looking for weakness. Our small pack couldn't afford to show any vulnerability.
Which made me the ultimate vulnerability.
"Mom." I folded the letter carefully. "Maybe I shouldn't go. The pack needs every member right now, and if I leave..."
"If you stay, you'll waste your potential mediating disputes that warriors should be smart enough to resolve themselves." Her tone turned sharp. "You've kept this pack from tearing itself apart more times than your father wants to admit. But you deserve more than being the glue holding broken pieces together."
The back door slammed open. Dad's voice boomed through the house, accompanied by heavy footsteps and the scent of pine and wolf musk.
"Rebecca! We need to talk about the Blackthorn situation."
Mom squeezed my hand once before releasing me. "In here, James."
Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, his Alpha presence filling the small space. He was a big man, made bigger by the authority that radiated from him like heat from a fire. When his eyes landed on me, something complicated flickered across his face.
Love mixed with disappointment. Pride mixed with confusion.
"Otto." He nodded acknowledgment. "Your mother and I need to discuss pack business."
"Actually," Mom intercepted smoothly, "Otto has news. Show your father the letter, honey."
I handed it over, watching Dad's expression shift as he read. His jaw tightened. His fingers gripped the paper harder than necessary.
"Moonrise Academy," he said finally. "That's an elite school. For powerful pack heirs."
"It's also for students with exceptional academic merit," Mom countered. "Otto earned this."
"I know he did." Dad set the letter on the table with careful precision. "But the timing is complicated."
"Because of the Blackthorn dispute?" I asked quietly.
Dad's eyes met mine. In them, I saw the weight of leading a struggling pack, of fighting to keep territory that larger neighbors wanted to swallow.
"The council met this morning," he said. "Blackthorn is demanding we cede the eastern forest. If we refuse, they're threatening challenge."
My stomach dropped. Challenge meant combat. Blood. Possibly death.
"Then we fight," Mom said firmly.
"With what numbers?" Dad's frustration leaked through. "We're thirty wolves against their hundred. Every member matters in a conflict like this."
The implication hung heavy in the air. Every member. Even the Omega who couldn't fight worth a damn.
"I can stay," I offered. "Help with negotiations, mediation, whatever you need."
"No." Mom's voice cracked like a whip. "You're not sacrificing your future for pack politics."
"Our son's education versus our pack's survival." Dad scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hell of a choice."
"It's not a choice," Mom insisted. "The Blackthorn dispute will resolve one way or another. Otto's potential shouldn't be wasted because we're too proud to find diplomatic solutions."
"Diplomatic solutions require strength to back them up." Dad looked at me, and I saw the truth he'd never quite spoken aloud. "You're my blood, son, but you're not built for this world. Your gentle nature is admirable. But it's also a weakness we can't afford right now."
The words shouldn't have hurt after eighteen years of variations on the same theme. But they did. Every single time.
"James," Mom warned.
"I'm not saying it to be cruel." Dad's voice softened slightly. "Otto's brilliant. Compassionate. He'll do amazing things in academia or diplomacy. But here, in a struggling pack facing territorial challenges, his gifts don't translate to survival."
"Maybe that's the problem with our world," I said quietly. "That gentleness is seen as weakness instead of strength."
Dad stared at me for a long moment. Then he picked up the letter again.
"When would you leave?"
"One week," I said. "Classes start September first."
He nodded slowly. "Then we have one week to resolve the Blackthorn situation. If we can negotiate peace before you go, you take the scholarship. If we're heading into war..."
"Otto goes regardless," Mom finished. "This isn't negotiable, James."
The Alpha and his mate locked eyes in silent battle of wills. Finally, Dad looked away first.
"Fine. But Otto helps with negotiations until he leaves. His diplomatic skills might actually prevent bloodshed."
"Of course." Relief flooded through me. "I'll do whatever I can."
Dad managed a tight smile. "I know you will, son. You always do."
Three days later, I stood in the neutral clearing between Moorland and Blackthorn territories, trying not to vomit from nerves.
The Blackthorn Alpha was massive, easily six and a half feet of pure muscle and aggression. His three sons flanked him, all warriors, all looking at our small delegation like wolves eyeing wounded prey.
Our side consisted of Dad, our Beta Marcus, two pack warriors, and me.
The scholarship Omega who was supposed to save the day through words instead of claws.
No pressure.
"Moorland." The Blackthorn Alpha's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "You've wasted our time with this meeting. Accept our terms or face challenge."
"The eastern forest has belonged to Moorland pack for three generations," Dad said evenly. "We won't abandon it without cause."
"The cause is that we're stronger and we want it." Blackthorn's eldest son stepped forward, his wolf close to the surface. "You're weak. Your pack is dying. Just give up the territory and maybe we'll let you keep the scraps."
One of our warriors growled. Marcus put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
This was going badly. Fast.
"If I may." My voice came out smaller than I intended. I cleared my throat and tried again. "If I may suggest an alternative?"
All eyes turned to me. The Blackthorn wolves looked confused, like they couldn't figure out why an Omega was speaking at Alpha negotiations.
"Who's this?" Blackthorn Alpha narrowed his eyes. "Your son?"
"Yes," Dad said carefully. "Otto has some thoughts on the situation."
"An Omega." The eldest son laughed. "This is your negotiator? No wonder your pack is failing."
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I forced myself to continue.
"The eastern forest is disputed because of the elk migration patterns, correct?" I kept my voice steady, clinical, like I was discussing homework instead of territorial war. "Your pack needs the hunting grounds to feed your numbers. Our pack needs them to maintain our traditional territory."
"Very perceptive," Blackthorn Alpha said mockingly. "And?"
"What if we share the hunting rights?" I pushed my glasses up my nose. "Establish a rotation system. Your pack hunts Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. We hunt Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays. Sundays the forest rests, letting the elk population recover."
Silence fell over the clearing.
"Share territory?" The eldest son looked scandalized. "That's not how pack law works."
"Actually," I said quietly, "there's precedent. The Northwestern Accords of 1987 established shared hunting grounds between the Cascade and Olympic packs. It's been functioning successfully for decades."
Blackthorn Alpha studied me with new interest. "You know pack law."
"I read a lot." My hands twisted together nervously. "The point is, war costs lives. Blood feud costs generations. But cooperation costs nothing except pride."
"Pride matters," one of our warriors muttered.
"So do living pack members," I shot back, then immediately regretted my sharp tone.
But Dad's hand landed on my shoulder, firm and approving.
"My son makes a valid point," he said. "Blackthorn pack is powerful. But even powerful packs lose warriors in territorial combat. Why sacrifice your sons for hunting grounds you could share peacefully?"
Blackthorn Alpha's expression shifted, calculating. His eldest son opened his mouth to object, but the Alpha silenced him with a look.
"Rotation hunting rights," Blackthorn said slowly. "In exchange for what?"
"Recognition of Moorland's continued sovereignty over the eastern forest," Dad replied. "And mutual defense pact if either pack faces outside threats."
"You want us to protect you?"
"We want mutual benefit." Dad's tone stayed level. "Small packs and large packs both have enemies. Cooperation makes us all stronger."
The negotiation continued for another hour. Terms were debated, details hammered out, compromises reached. And through it all, I stood quietly beside my father, occasionally offering clarifications or citing relevant pack laws I'd memorized from Mom's old textbooks.
Finally, Blackthorn Alpha extended his hand.
"Agreement reached. We'll formalize the treaty at the next full moon."
Dad shook firmly. "Agreed."
As the Blackthorn wolves departed, our small delegation exhaled collectively.
"Holy hell," Marcus breathed. "We're not going to war."
"Because of the Omega," one warrior said, voice caught between respect and confusion.
Dad turned to me, and for the first time in years, I saw genuine pride in his eyes.
"You prevented bloodshed today, son. The pack owes you."
I wanted to feel victorious. Validated. Proof that my gentle nature had value.
But I also saw the way the warriors still looked uncertain. The way Marcus seemed uncomfortable that an Omega had succeeded where Alpha posturing had failed.
"Come on." Dad's hand stayed on my shoulder as we walked back toward our territory. "Let's go tell your mother the good news."
That night, I lay in my small bedroom under the eaves, packing for Moonrise Academy while the celebration continued downstairs.
The pack was throwing an impromptu party for the successful negotiations. I could hear laughter, music, the warm sounds of people who weren't about to go to war.
I should have been down there. Celebrating my contribution.
Instead, I was packing, because even victory didn't change the fundamental truth: I didn't fit here.
"Otto?" Dad's voice came from my doorway. He held two mugs of hot chocolate, Mom's recipe. "Can I come in?"
I nodded, setting aside the sweater I'd been folding.
He handed me a mug and sat on the edge of my bed, looking uncomfortable in the small space built for a child, not an Alpha.
"You did something remarkable today," he said. "Something I couldn't do."
"I just suggested compromise."
"You prevented war." His hand ran through his graying hair. "And you made me realize I've been seeing your Omega nature as weakness when it's actually a different kind of strength."
My throat tightened.
"You're my blood, son," he continued, echoing his earlier words but with different weight. "And you're exactly what this world needs. Not more warriors. More peacemakers."
"The pack doesn't see it that way."
"Then Moonrise Academy will show you packs that do." He set his mug down and pulled an envelope from his pocket. "The scholarship covers tuition and room and board. This is for everything else."
I opened the envelope. Inside was a check that represented months of his Alpha stipend.
"Dad, I can't..."
"You can and you will." His voice held that Alpha command tone that didn't allow argument. "Make useful alliances, like the council wants. But more importantly, find somewhere that values what you bring to the world."
Tears pricked my eyes. I blinked them back rapidly.
"I'm scared," I admitted. "What if I don't fit there either?"
"Then you keep looking until you find where you do fit." He pulled me into an awkward hug. "But I think you'll be surprised. The world is bigger than our small territory. And there are people out there who will see your gentle nature as the gift it is."
I wanted to believe him.
Desperately.
One week later, I stood beside Mom's old SUV, backpack at my feet, staring at the winding road that would take me away from everything I'd ever known.
The pack had gathered to see me off. It should have felt warm, supportive.
Instead, it felt like relief. Like they were glad the awkward Omega was finally leaving.
"Otto." Mom hugged me tight. "Remember what I taught you. You are valuable. You are worthy. And anyone who doesn't see that isn't worth your time."
"I'll remember."
Dad's hug was briefer but no less meaningful. "Make us proud, son."
"I'll try."
As I climbed into the passenger seat, I caught sight of some younger pack members watching from the tree line. One of them made a dismissive gesture. Another laughed.
Even after preventing war, I was still just the weak Omega to them.
Mom started the engine. As we pulled away from the only home I'd ever known, I twisted in my seat, watching the Moorland territory disappear behind the trees.