Omniscient Narrative
Corey learned early in life that silence could be a kind of armor.
It wrapped around him in the quiet hours before dawn, when the packhouse still slept and the world felt gentler, less sharp.
At nineteen, he had grown into that silence the way some wolves grew into dominance or rage.
It fit him better than anger ever could.
Anger required energy.
While silence only required endurance.
The cold stone floor pressed through the thin soles of his shoes as he scrubbed dried mud from the hallway near the training wing.
His arms ached, shoulders burning faintly with each circular motion of the rag, but he didn't stop. He never did unless told.
"Keep your head high up my love" his mother-the old luna- used to say.
"Survive first" his father-the old alpha- had added gently, like survival was not cowardice but strategy.
They had been right-just like every time-.
A year had passed since his eighteenth birthday, since his first shift, his awakening, his wolf finally stepping forward and breathing life into his bones.
A year since the pack had begun to look at him differently. Not with pride. Not with hope.
With disappointment.
Corey was an omega.
Not just any omega, but an unmated omega, nineteen years old, with no parents to shield him and no alpha willing to protect him.
In a traditional pack like Moonridge, that made him small. Expendable. Easy.
'You're still breathng' , his wolf murmured inside him, warm and steady despite the ache in their shared body.
Corey smiled faintly, lips curving in a way no one was around to see.
"I know, Thane," he whispered under his breath. "That counts for something."
Thane was calm today. Thoughtful as he always was.
Unlike the wolves of other omegas, who were shy, fearful creatures who curled inward, Thane had been born with a quiet strength-which could be the result of having alpha parents-.
He didn't roar or snarl. He usually stood, watched, observed, waited, he was a sentinel wolf, he was patient and unyielding.
One day, Thane said, not for the first time. We won't be alone.
Corey rinsed the rag in a bucket of cloudy water and squeezed it out slowly.
His hands were rough now, scarred in places they shouldn't have been for someone his age.
But he didn't mind, thanks to his werewolf healing abilities his hands could heal at any time, but unfortunately the heart took longer.
"I know," Corey whispered again, softer this time. "My mate's just... late."
The hallway smelled faintly of iron and pine, training mats and cleaning solution mixing with the ever-present scent of wolves.
Corey's own scent was carefully muted, something he'd learned to do-after Thane had taught him how-
Omegas who smelled too hopeful, too open, were noticed. And noticed often meant getting hurt.
The packhouse was large, old, and built to impress.
High ceilings, dark beams, symbols carved into stone walls that spoke of lineage and power.
Corey used to love those symbols.
His father had explained each one when Corey was small, lifting him up so he could trace the lines with chubby fingers.
"That one" his father had said, smiling proudly, "means unity. The pack survives together."
Corey had believed him-Corey always believes him-
That was before the world took his parents in a single cruel winter, trying to protect their only child from the danger that had befallen their pack, collapsing under the moon thinking about the son they had sworn to protect.
That was before Alpha Ronan-his father's younger brother- took the mantle of leadership.
Family, Ronan had called himself.
Blood, he'd insisted.
But blood did not bruise so easily.
Blood did not turn away when a child cried.
Corey had been seventeen when Ronan took over.
Still unshifted, still hopeful. He'd stood at the edge of the gathering hall during the announcement, hands clasped tight, heart pounding with nerves and a desperate wish to be seen.
Ronan hadn't looked at him.
Not once.
Now, two years later, Corey finished scrubbing the hallway and carried the bucket toward the back entrance.
The morning air seeped through the cracks in the door, crisp and cool.
Autumn was settling in, leaves turning gold and red beyond the treeline. The season of change.
He liked autumn. It reminded him that even dying things could be beautiful.
As he stepped outside, the sound of laughter reached him-sharp and loud.
Betas, probably. Maybe a few younger alphas sparring early.
Corey instinctively angled his body away, eyes lowered, shoulders slightly hunched.
Submission was second nature now.
Someone bumped his shoulder anyway.
"Watch it, omega." The person had said with disgust.
The bucket sloshed, cold water splashing over Corey's wrist.
He bit back a hiss and murmured an apology before the words were demanded of him.
"Sorry."
The wolf who'd bumped him-a beta with a smug grin- snorted. "Always sorry. Figures."
They walked off, laughter trailing behind them like thrown stones.
Corey stood still until the sound faded. Then he exhaled slowly, grounding himself the way Thane had taught him. Inhale. Hold. Release.
You did well, Thane said, nudging him from within. No damage.
"Still standing," Corey replied.
He dumped the dirty water near the edge of the yard and rinsed the bucket clean.
His reflection stared back at him in the shallow pool, his soft brown curls falling into his eyes, tanned pale from being outdoors too many hours a day, eyes a gentle hazel that people mistook for weakness.
He didn't hate his reflection.
That surprised people.
Corey liked who he was. Or at least, he was learning to.
He was kind, he was patient.
He remembered birthdays no one else did.
He snuck extra food to the pack's elderly omegas when rations were cut.
He sang softly to himself when he thought no one could hear-old songs his mother used to hum while cooking.
Kindness was not valued in Moonridge.
But Corey valued it.
As he returned the bucket to the supply room, the pack bell rang, deep and resonant.
Breakfast call.
His stomach tightened, not with hunger but with calculation.
He knew where he'd sit. Near the back, close to the wall, Somewhere he wouldn't be noticed.
He washed his hands carefully, smoothing his hair back with water, and took a steadying breath.
Maybe today, Thane murmured, a note of gentle mischief in his voice. I can feel him.
Corey's heart fluttered despite himself.
"Mates don't just fall from the sky," he said, amused. "And if they did, I'd probably be mopping the floor when it happened."
Still, the hope lingered. It always did.
His mate would be male, Corey had known that as surely as he knew the moon rose every night.
The pack didn't speak kindly of same-sex mates, but the bond didn't care for tradition. Love was older than hierarchy.
Somewhere out there, a wolf existed who would look at Corey and see him.
Not an omega.
Not an inconvenience.
Not a burden left behind.
Just Corey.
The thought warmed his chest as he stepped into the dining hall, the noise washing over him.
Plates clattered.
Voices rose. The pack lived on, unaware of the quiet hope that walked among them.
Corey took his place, back straight, eyes calm.
He endured.
And for now, that was enough for him.