Chapter 58

Chapter 58: Chapter 58

The next morning, the academy gathered in the main hall.

Proctor Vesper Kane stood at the dais, his expression as severe as ever, though those who looked closely could see the lingering shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes. The students filled the chamber in tight clusters, their voices a low hum of speculation.

"Students of Shadowmoon Academy," Kane began, his voice carrying across the hall. "As many of you know, this year’s annual talent showcase and parents’ visitation will take place in one month’s time."

A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd.

"This year’s showcase will be unlike any we have held before. His Majesty, King Aldric Thornridge, Sovereign of the Seven Packs and Protector of the Realm, has confirmed his personal attendance."

The ripple became a wave. Students turned to each other with wide eyes and hushed whispers. The King. The King was coming here. To their academy.

"In addition, our sister academy, Silvermoon Academy, will be sending their finest students to participate in joint events and spend the week leading up to the showcase in residence. This is an honor and an opportunity to demonstrate the strength and skill that has made Shadowmoon the premier training ground for the realm’s wolves."

Kane’s gaze swept across the hall, lingering for the briefest moment on Soren, who stood near the back with his arms crossed.

"Preparations will begin immediately. Training schedules will be intensified. Events will be announced in the coming days. I expect every student to represent this academy with excellence. There will be no exceptions. No excuses. No failures."

He paused.

"We have faced trials in recent days. The Mistwood mission tested us in ways we did not anticipate. We lost students. We lost colleagues. But we did not lose our resolve. Let the showcase be a reminder of who we are. Strong. United. Unbreakable."

He raised his hand.

"Preparations begin at dawn. Dismissed."

The hall erupted into chaos. Students poured out of the chamber, buzzing with excitement and nerves. The King was coming. The showcase was a month away. Everything was about to change.

Nyra stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the faces stream past. Finn was already chattering about which events he wanted to enter. Marek was nodding along. Jasper was calculating odds.

And somewhere in the crowd, Soren caught her eye. He didn’t smile. But the look he gave her—steady, reassuring, full of unspoken promises—was enough.

One month. The King was coming.

And nothing would ever be the same.

The academy bell rang before dawn.

It was a brutal, clanging sound that echoed through every corridor and dormitory, dragging students from their beds with the subtlety of a war horn. In the Undercroft dorm, Finn groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. Marek was already sitting up, methodically lacing his boots. Jasper closed his book he had apparently been awake for hours and swung his legs over the side of his bunk.

"General training," Jasper said, his voice flat. "The Proctor announced it yesterday. All students, all years, combined assessment."

"I remember," Finn mumbled into his pillow. "I was hoping I’d dreamed it."

"You didn’t."

"Let me live in my delusions, Jasper."

Nyra was already on her feet, moving through the familiar routine of binding her chest and dressing in Thorne’s loose tunic and trousers. Her body still ached from the lingering effects of the fever, but the healer had cleared her for light training, and she wasn’t about to miss the first day of preparations. Not with the King coming. Not with everything at stake.

"You’re supposed to be resting," Finn said, peering at her from under his pillow.

"I rested for three days. That’s enough."

"The healer said—"

"The healer said light activity. Training is light activity."

"Training with the Sword Sovereign is never light activity. I’ve seen the way he looks at you during drills. It’s like he’s trying to forge you into a weapon."

Nyra felt a blush creep up her neck and busied herself with her boot laces. "Soren is my trainer. He takes his job seriously."

"Soren," Finn repeated, his voice suddenly interested. "Not Thornridge. Not Sword Sovereign. Soren."

"Shut up, Finn."

"I’m just saying. You two came back from that forest... different. Closer. If I didn’t know better, I’d say—"

"Finn." Marek’s quiet voice cut through the teasing. "Leave him alone."

Finn held up his hands in surrender, but his grin didn’t fade. "Fine, fine. I’ll save my interrogation for later. But don’t think I haven’t noticed, Thorne. I notice everything."

He notices more than you think, Luna murmured. He’s clever, that one. You should tell him the truth before he figures it out himself.

I know. But not today.

Soon, then.

Soon.

They dressed quickly and joined the stream of students flooding toward the training grounds. The sun was just beginning to rise over the towers, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. It would have been beautiful if not for the cold and the early hour and the knowledge that the next few hours were going to be brutal.

The training grounds had been transformed. Multiple sparring circles had been marked out across the packed earth. Combat dummies stood in rows, freshly repaired and waiting to be destroyed. Senior lecturers and instructors moved among the gathering students, clipboards in hand, assessing eyes already cataloguing strengths and weaknesses.

Proctor Kane stood at the center of it all, his iron-gray hair pulled back, his voice carrying across the grounds without need for amplification.

"Students of Shadowmoon Academy. Today marks the beginning of your intensive preparation for the annual talent showcase. For the next month, you will train harder than you have ever trained before. You will be assessed. You will be pushed. You will be broken down and built back up. Because in one month’s time, you will perform before the King of the Seven Packs, the Queen, and every dignitary of note in the realm."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"The King is not coming to see mediocrity. He is coming to see excellence. You will give him excellence. You will give him everything you have. And you will make this academy proud."

A murmur of determination rippled through the students.

"Training groups have been assigned. You will find your names on the boards near the armory. Go. Train. Make us proud."

The students dispersed, and Nyra found herself swept along with the crowd toward the assignment boards. Her name was listed under Group Seven—a mixed group of first-years and seniors, overseen by Senior Lecturer Marrow and, to her surprise, Valeria Morvane.

"Valeria," she murmured, a flicker of unease running through her.

"Problem?" Finn appeared at her elbow, already scanning his own assignment.

"No. Just... surprised."

"Valeria’s been different lately. Did you notice? Since you got back from the forest. She’s been... quieter. Less hostile."

Nyra had noticed. It was unsettling. Valeria had spent months treating her with barely concealed contempt, whispering threats in her ear, trying to sabotage her training. And now she was... what? Ignoring her? Pretending nothing had happened?

It didn’t make sense.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The training bell rang, and Group Seven assembled at the far end of the grounds.

The training was brutal.

Senior Lecturer Marrow was a stocky, no-nonsense Alpha who believed that the best way to assess a student’s abilities was to push them to their absolute limit and see what happened next. He ran them through combat drills, endurance exercises, and tactical simulations with the relentless efficiency of a man who had been doing this for decades.

Valeria moved among the students with a cool, professional demeanor, offering corrections and observations in a voice that was firm but not cruel. When she approached Nyra, who was struggling through a set of defensive blocks, Nyra braced herself for the usual venom.

"Your footwork is improving," Valeria said.

Nyra blinked. "I’m sorry?"

"Your footwork. It’s better than it was before the Mistwood. You’re not dragging your left foot anymore." Valeria tilted her head, her dark eyes assessing. "Whatever Thornridge taught you in that forest, it worked."

"I... thank you?"

"You’re welcome." Valeria paused, and for a moment, something flickered in her expression—something that might have been curiosity or calculation or both. "You’ve been through a lot, Prince Thorne. The poisoning. The Mistwood. It would have broken a lesser student. But you’re still here."

"I have good people around me."

"Yes. You do." Valeria’s lips curved into something that was almost a smile. "Keep up the good work."

She walked away, leaving Nyra standing in stunned silence.

What just happened? Luna asked, her voice echoing Nyra’s own confusion.

I have no idea.

She was... nice to us. Actually nice. Is this a trap?

It has to be. Valeria hates me. She’s made that very clear.

Maybe she’s had a change of heart?

Valeria Morvane doesn’t have changes of heart. She has strategies. Nyra watched Valeria move across the training ground, her posture perfect, her expression serene. I don’t know what she’s planning, but I’m not letting my guard down.

Good. Neither am I.

The training continued, and Nyra pushed the encounter to the back of her mind. There would be time to worry about Valeria later. Right now, she had drills to survive.