The arena floor smelled faintly of dust, sweat, and blood. The circular pit was ringed by high stone walls, the stands above crowded with students, instructors, and a handful of visiting alphas from neighboring territories.
Aria stood in the center, hands fisted at her sides.
The announcement had been sudden—Headmistress Celene's voice carrying through the training grounds that the "Trial of the Packs" was to begin immediately. It was meant to be a test of dominance, skill, and resilience, pairing students against each other in full-contact duels. Winning meant prestige. Losing meant humiliation.
Aria had never volunteered for it. She hadn't even been given the choice.
Now she found herself staring across the pit at her opponent—a broad-shouldered male from the Ironfang Pack, known for their ruthless tactics and brute force. His shift was only half-complete; claws and fangs glinted under the midday sun, his eyes locked on her with predatory focus.
From the stands, she caught a glimpse of Kieran. His face was unreadable, but his eyes… there was something in them. Not quite concern, not quite approval.
The signal horn blared.
Her opponent lunged.
Aria sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the swipe of his claws. The crowd roared. Her heart hammered, every instinct screaming at her to run. But there was nowhere to run.
Another strike came—faster this time. She ducked, rolling to the side, her palms scraping against the gritty floor. Pain flared, but she pushed it aside.
"You're dead meat, mute," the Ironfang growled, circling her. His voice was full of mockery. "Should've stayed in whatever hole you crawled out of."
She met his eyes, silent, unblinking.
He snarled and charged.
Something inside her snapped—not in fear, but in defiance. She pivoted at the last second, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to slam him into the wall. Gasps erupted from the stands. Even he seemed stunned, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe she'd managed it.
But he recovered fast. Too fast.
His claws raked across her shoulder, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain seared through her, but her legs held steady.
Somewhere above, Kieran shifted forward in his seat.
The Ironfang came again, a blur of claws and teeth. Aria's vision narrowed, her breaths sharp and controlled. She moved on instinct—ducking, weaving, striking when the smallest opening appeared.
The crowd's cheers began to change—less laughter, more surprise.
Then, just as he lunged for her throat, she dropped low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground, and she was on him in an instant, her knee pressing into his chest, her hand poised to strike.
The horn sounded.
Silence fell.
The referee's voice rang out: "Victory—Aria Nightshade of no pack."
The arena erupted.
Aria pushed herself to her feet, chest heaving, blood dripping from her shoulder. Her gaze flicked to Kieran.
He was watching her with that same unreadable expression… but this time, his jaw was tight, his hands gripping the railing as if he'd been holding himself back from moving.
She didn't know whether he was proud… or furious.
All she knew was that this trial had changed something—about how the academy saw her, and perhaps about how Kieran did, too.
The arena roared with voices, the sound bouncing off the high stone walls until it felt like the air itself was shaking. The Trial of the Packs wasn't supposed to happen until midyear, but the recent attack had "inspired" the academy council to accelerate the event, claiming it was to "test readiness."
Aria suspected it was something else entirely.
She stood at the edge of the sandpit floor, her boots sinking slightly into the loose grit. Across from her, three students from the Nightfang Pack prowled in a loose half-circle, their lips curled in arrogant smirks. Each one was bigger than she was. Stronger. Shifted before the age of sixteen.
She'd never shifted at all.
The headmistress's voice rang out from above, clear and sharp. "Competitors, you know the rules. First to be knocked from the circle, or yield, loses."
No one had mentioned what would happen if you lost. Aria had the feeling she didn't want to find out.
Kieran was standing on the balcony above with the other instructors, his arms folded tight across his chest, expression unreadable. But she could feel his eyes on her—heavy, assessing, as if weighing whether she would stand or break.
The first strike came fast—too fast. The largest boy lunged, aiming to knock her flat before she could even react. Instinct flared. She dropped low, letting him barrel past, then twisted sharply, her heel hooking behind his ankle.
He crashed into the sand.
A hiss of surprise rippled through the crowd. The second opponent came at her immediately, claws flashing, and Aria's pulse roared in her ears.
Something inside her stirred—heat licking along her limbs, sharpening her focus until she could see the muscles tense before each movement. Her body moved without hesitation: sidestep, palm strike to the ribs, twist, kick.
The crowd's jeers turned into an eager, shocked roar.
But the last fighter didn't rush in. He stalked toward her slowly, his gaze dark and calculating, and Aria realized with a shiver—he was playing with her.
From above, Kieran's voice cut through the noise. "Focus, Nightshade!"
She didn't know if it was an order or a warning. But she obeyed.
When the final attack came, it was brutal—he aimed to slam her out of the ring in one blow. Aria dropped into a roll, barely avoiding the hit, and came up behind him. Without thinking, she swept his legs out and planted her boot on his chest before he could rise.
The arena fell silent for one stunned heartbeat. Then it erupted into deafening cheers.
From the balcony, Kieran's golden eyes locked with hers—burning, intense, unreadable.
Aria's chest heaved, sand clinging to her skin. She didn't know what she'd just awakened in the crowd… or in him.
But she was certain of one thing—her life at Mooncrest Academy had just changed forever.