Yes, High Alpha." No shame in his voice. Just fact.
"Hollowfang is the lowest-ranked pack in the Concord," Konstantin said, unable to help himself. "And he can’t even shift. With respect, High Alpha, this is—"
"I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Orlov."
Silence crashed down like a hammer.
I returned my attention to Dmitri. "You scored 99% on an examination designed to test strategic thinking, pack law, political theory, and crisis management. That doesn’t happen by accident." Google seaʀᴄh N0velFire.ɴet
"No, High Alpha. It doesn’t." Eyes the color of dark sea bore into mine.
"So why are you here?" I asked directly. "You must know you’re at a severe disadvantage in the physical trials. Why apply at all?"
For the first time, something flickered in his expression—not quite determination, not quite desperation. Something in between all clad within a collected veneer.
"Because a beta isn’t just muscle, High Alpha. And intelligence without application is worthless." He paused. "I may not have a wolf, but I’ve found... other ways to compensate."
"Other ways," Ragnar muttered, clearly unimpressed.
Sylvanna’s expression was more carefully neutral, but I caught the slight curl of her lip.
Silas, interestingly, said nothing. Just watched with those dark, unreadable eyes.
I looked down at the file again, at the gaps Arlo had mentioned. Eight years in Hollowfang’s registry. Nothing before that.
"You’re not from Hollowfang originally," I stated.
A pause. Then: "No, High Alpha."
"Does it matter?" His tone wasn’t defiant—genuinely curious. "I’m registered with Hollowfang now. I’ve met all the requirements to compete."
Technically true. But the evasion was noted.
"We’ll see if your... other ways... are sufficient," I said finally, closing his file. "Step back."
As he returned to the line, I caught Konstantin lean slightly toward him and whisper something. Dmitri’s expression didn’t change, but his hands clasped tighter behind his back.
I looked at all five candidates standing before me.
Pride. Ambition. Brute strength. Shadows. And a wolfless enigma who’d scored higher than all of them combined.
"The trials will test more than what’s in your files," I announced. "Strength. Intelligence. Adaptability. And most importantly—character." My gaze swept across them. "A beta serves not just the Alpha, but everything the Alpha values. If you cannot respect that, you have no place here."
From the corner, I felt Lilith’s attention sharpen through the bond.
"The first trial begins tomorrow. You’re dismissed."
As they filed out, I noticed Dmitri was the last to leave—not from hesitation, but because Konstantin and Ragnar had pushed ahead of him, forcing him to wait.
"Well?" I asked without turning around.
Lilith’s voice came from the corner, quiet and uncertain. "You’re really going to let him compete?"
"He’s... they’re going to destroy him in the combat trials. They don’t look very nice. They might hurt him."
As if she’d known many nice people. The irony wasn’t lost on me. "Perhaps." I turned to face her finally. "Or perhaps he’ll surprise us both."
Though that was unlikely, I liked to keep my options open.
Through the phathom bond, I felt her doubt. Her concern.
"Come," I said. "We have training."
Her eyes widened. "Training?" She blurted. "But I thought..."
"After combat, your training will resume,"
The colour bled out of her, "Will they watch?" She asked.
I allowed myself a quirk of the lips. "No, never,"
She sighed, relaxing her shoulders.
I walked forward. "They won’t watch because they are participating."
Though the left over of the bond, I felt her panic and horror flare up.
The training arena was the same as before—the moon temple ruins. I watched Lilith swallow thickly, looking up to see the parapet. Her bronze complexion paling once more.
In the day, even though it was in ruins, the moon temple was a sight.
Ancient stone columns reached toward the sky like skeletal fingers, half-crumbled but still proud. Vines had claimed what time had broken, weaving through cracks in the marble, softening the harsh lines of decay. The central arena—once a sacred gathering place—was now a perfect circle of packed earth surrounded by tiered stone seating. Moonstone still glinted in the columns where it had been embedded centuries ago, catching the afternoon light and scattering it like trapped stars.
It was beautiful in the way all ruins were—a reminder that even gods’ works could fall.
The candidates stood in a line at the edge of the arena, each dressed in black training gear that left little room for modesty or mercy. Practical. Flexible. Easy to move in, easy to shed before a shift.
Lilith wore the same, though on her it looked different somehow. Smaller. More vulnerable. The black made her golden eyes stand out more starkly, and I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she fought to control her breathing.
Through the bond, I felt it—the tight coil of anxiety, the phantom memory of height and cold wind.
She was remembering the parapet.
Good. Fear sharpened the senses.
Arlo stood to my left, arms crossed, expression carved from the same stone as the temple around us. He’d seen dozens of these trials over the years. Another day, another test of dominance and survival.
I stepped forward, and the murmur of conversation among the candidates died immediately.
"You were informed when you applied," I began, my voice carrying across the arena without effort, "that the beta selection would test three things: intelligence, combat, and character."
I gestured to each candidate in turn.
"The intelligence portion has been completed. Your examination scores have been recorded and weighted accordingly."
Konstantin’s chin lifted slightly. Dmitri’s expression remained neutral.
"Today is combat." I let the word hang in the air. "Each of you will face an opponent. The victor advances. The defeated does not." I paused, making sure they understood. "The top three will move on to the final assessment—character."
"And the other two?" Sylvanna asked, her voice steady but curious.
"Will leave Wintercrest territory by sundown."
No second chances. No participation medals. This was for a beta position, second only to me in authority and responsibility.
I gestured to the stone seats. "You will observe when you are not fighting. You will learn from what you see, or you will fail when your turn comes."
They moved to the seats—all except the first two I’d called.
"Ragnar Thornson. Silas Vane. Center of the arena."
The mountain and the shadow stepped forward.
Ragnar cracked his neck, rolling his massive shoulders. Already, I could see the wolf beneath his skin—eager, restless, ready to be unleashed.
Silas was perfectly still. No stretching, no preparation. Just that unnerving calm that made even seasoned warriors uncomfortable.
"The rules are simple," I announced. "Fight until one of you yields or cannot continue. Killing blows are prohibited—this is a test of skill, not bloodlust." My gaze swept between them. "Shift or don’t. The choice is yours. But remember: a beta must be adaptable in all forms."
I stepped back, taking my place at the edge of the arena.