ARIA VALEN POV
I woke early, before dawn tugged at the sky because sleep felt heavy on my chest. The words on the scrap of paper felt like nails under my skin: REMEMBER. I didn't know who wrote it, or why, but the warning echoed in my nightmares. My wolf stirred under my ribs, restless, pacing, I dressed quietly, boots soft against the cold floorboards of my dorm, and slipped outside before the hallways filled with the usual noise of early risers.
Lycanridge was asleep when I walked through its ancient gates this morning. Mist curled around the stone as if the castle exhaled, I kept to the shadows cloak pulled high, hood tight against the chill and moved toward the open courtyard. I needed air, I needed silence, I needed space for the pulse in my blood to ease.
My first class of the day was Combat Fundamentals. I forced my hands to steady as I entered the hall, leather of gauntlets, damp floor, the faint scent of churned earth and sweat. Around me, other students prepped their gear, bets whispered, eyes sizing up opponents, machinations spinning under polite smiles. I scanned every face but refused to meet anyone's stare. I kept the scar hidden under long sleeves, I kept my name the same, I tried to be invisible.
The Instructor called for pairs. I closed my eyes, froze every muscle, expecting to draw someone weak, Omegas, scholarship kids, anyone who'd stay away from fire, I heard my name: "Valen, Aria pair with Draven, Kael."
The world ended.
I opened my eyes and saw him. Kael Draven, Alpha heir. The boy who'd broken me. His posture was easy, indifferent but the tilt of his head, the slight lift of an eyebrow, said far more than words.
My hands turned cold, I didn't want this fight, I didn't want this history, I wanted bleach on memory and a clean slate. But fate or perhaps my own blood had other plans.
We entered the ring. Sand swallowed the torchlight outside, inside, torches burned blue and cold, casting sharp shadows on the walls. The air tasted of magic and danger, around us, students fell silent, the name "Draven" whispered like a prayer or a curse.
Kael moved first to a predatory calm. I braced, glove raised, as though I was defending more than just myself. My mind hissed old warnings, he rejected you, he banished you, let him be a memory.
But my body betrayed me, the ghost of the bond flickered like half‑remembered fire, and when he struck, I shifted reflexively. The shield of the lunar ward flared in my arms, light bent around me, the clash stunned more than the blow, the impact echoed deep inside like thunder in a cave.
The crowd gasped. I saw their eyes widen, I saw some lean forward, eager for spectacle, I saw others step back, fear gathering in haunted folds, I saw Kael blink.
The world narrowed to two heartbeats. Mine and his.
Then I shoved, not hard precisely. My gauntleted fist connected with bone, the shock that ran through him made the air crack. The sand rose in a spiral, catching torchlight in swirling shards, his body jerked, stumbled backward, face pale.
I didn't wait for the awe, I didn't look for sympathy, I didn't want to see him flinch, I backed out of the ring before he or anyone could speak.
As I walked away, each breath cold and sharp, I felt the weight of every stare burn down my spine. Every person in that hall now knew something, I was not dead, I could fight and I had just broken the rising Alpha's jaw.
Outside, the mist had settled heavier, so I pulled my cloak tighter, I didn't run. I didn't disappear again, I walked steadily through the echoes of my own footsteps, until I reached the old stone archway near the library, a shortcut I'd discovered earlier, I paused, hand on the rough wall.
Beneath the dust and carvings, I felt the magic pulsing. The wards near the archives hummed low, I touched the runes carved beside the arch and ancient seals meant to hold monsters out, monsters like me.
For a moment I felt the shift, not the hunting-predator wolf, but the changed wolf, the one they said died the night I was cast out.
I closed my eyes and breathed, the night smelled like rain and regret and blood.
A figure moved in the shadows, I didn't recognize the steps, too light, too careful. I turned, ready to run or fight, the torchlight caught a glint of something heavy in their hand, something meant.
But they vanished before I could see more.
I swallowed, my wolf snarled inside. The warnings had come true, the scrap, the name, the fight.
And now someone was watching.
I pressed my back against the cold stone, fighting the desire to sprint into darkness. Instead I whispered something to the night, I remember and I fight.
Because I had to.
I should've run after I felt the shift but I didn't.
Kael Draven's eyes under the torch‑light didn't question, but they registered. Every glint of something old, anger, regret, hunger, passed through them like a blade through silk. The hall behind me clapped with cheers and jeers, but for once those voices drowned all I heard was the pounding of my own heart as I stepped from the ring, gauntleted hands slick, cloak heavy with sand and tense magic.
I didn't break stride, I walked straight past the benches, past faces wide with shock or awe or disgust, I didn't care which, I didn't belong there, not anymore. The world had rearranged the moment Kael's fist clipped his jaw.
Outside the arena, the night air bit through my sleeves. I didn't stop until I reached the old stone arch near the library, a place of breath, of ghosts, and old runes. I pressed both palms against the carved wall, I closed my eyes, I let the pulse beneath the wards wash over me, and felt it actually shift under my skin.
I took a deep breath, the forest beyond the walls smelled of pine and danger and fresh possibility.
That's when I heard footsteps, soft, careful, not student‑fast, but a predator‑slow. My wolf snarled, muscles tightening under old skin.
I turned, not running, but shifting slightly. Gauntlets raised, cloak flaring.
The figure stepped into the torchlight. Hood pulled high, shadow swallowing everything but a glint at their waist, my chest locked down, every instinct screamed.
But they didn't step forward. Instead, they paused, as though calculating, silence cracked between us.
"Aria Valen," the voice came out of black, slow, calm, not a hiss, not a threat yet.
My breath trembled because I knew that name, old name, weighty name.
They didn't call me "Ava." They called me what I was.
I didn't answer, my throat closed.
From behind me, boots hit cobblestone. Someone was coming, I shifted faster pulse in my ears, wolf's blood singing through my veins.
But a hand grabbed my cloak from the side.
"Don't," came a whispered hiss and the hooded figure was gone, slipping into the dark like smoke from a candle's flame dissipating before you realize it was ever real.
I whirled toward the sound, the hallway was empty. Exactly empty, no footsteps, no echo, just cold stones and the faint hum of ward magic.
My legs shook, my fists clenched, I forced myself to breathe, to calm down.
"You okay?"
The voice was low, familiar. I looked up at the student, not the attacker, him. Elias Crowe. Storm‑hair, gray eyes, shoulders tensed, the faint rune glows on his gauntlet illuminated in the dark like a warning lantern.
He stood too close, too steady. "You looked like you were going to fight a ghost."
"A ghost remembers names," I said.
He nodded slowly. "Then maybe you don't want ghosts hunting you."
I didn't answer, I just looked at the patch of ground where the figure had been steps erased, cloak gone, only a whisper of danger left in the air.
Elias reached out, but I didn't move toward him, I stayed rigid, wolf‑blood clenched tight inside me.
"Go to the archives with me," he said. "There might be something relevant."
I huffed. "You think a book can stop memories?"
He didn't shrug, he offered his cloak instead. "Maybe, or it can show you who threw the first stone."
I accepted the cloak and draped it over my shoulders, the weight was small, but its presence was huge.
We walked together under arching stone walkways, torches sputtering, wards humming, every shadow too long and every echo a question. In the archives, dust motes danced in candlelight, and old scrolls whispered secrets in a language meant for faded kings.
Elias found a widened ledger, old class rosters, records of exiled students, lists of disappeared Leopards and Crescents and Wolves. He flipped pages, murmuring under his breath.
"See?" he said, pointing to a column dated five years ago. "There was a girl named 'Valen, Aria' here, then the record just… vanished."
My breath froze, my fingers traced the blank space like a scar, the ledger's leather cover groaned in the dark hall.
Someone bumped behind us, soft and careful, neither of us turned.
Instead Elias whispered, "They're here."
I didn't ask who, I didn't want to know. The way the air tightened told me everything.
We didn't run, we didn't fight, we closed the ledger, backed into the shadows, and left.
Outside, the night air felt colder, the forest beyond the walls seemed darker.
I didn't sleep that night. Instead I mapped every sound in the dark, the rustle of leaves, the tap of stones, the soft hum of words.
And I realized, the name I wore Ava Riel was only as safe as the silence around it.
But silence was a candle and candles burned out.
So I lit another, I was no longer just surviving.