Chapter Seventeen ;-Forged in Silence
807 Words
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(Idris POV)
Two years.
Seven hundred and thirty days of discipline.
Of bruises.
Of silence.
Of restraint.
Alpha Training College did not pass time.
It carved it into you.
And when it was done, you were either forged or broken.
I refused to be broken.
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The Hunt Trial
Winter of the first year.
We were released into the northern ravines before dawn no weapons, no supplies, only instinct and rank structure. Alphas commanded. Betas strategized. Gammas executed.
“Three days,” the Head Instructor said. “Return with a coordinated kill. Fail, and you repeat the term.”
Snow swallowed tracks quickly. Wind masked scent.
I led the formation, but the terrain was deceptive narrow ridges, unstable ice shelves. A wrong step meant death.
“Wind’s shifting east,” Saadun murmured at my side, already calculating angles.
“Gamma flank left,” I ordered quietly. “No sound.”
We tracked a mountain stag massive, fast, territorial.
When it bolted, chaos erupted.
One Gamma slipped. Ice cracked.
I didn’t think.
I shifted mid-air, lunged, caught his forearm before he fell into the ravine. Muscles tore under the strain, but I pulled him back.
Leadership was not dominance.
It was responsibility.
We secured the kill before nightfall on the third day.
When we returned, bloodied but synchronized, the instructor only nodded once.
“An Alpha protects before he conquers.”
I carried those words with me.
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Combat Without Mercy
Second year.
Advanced sparring.
No restraint rounds.
The arena sand was dark with old blood.
My opponent was an Alpha from the Western Plains taller, heavier, brutal in close combat. He aimed for ribs, throat, knee joints. Efficient.
He struck fast.
I absorbed.
Waited.
Calculated breathing patterns.
Then I shifted tempo.
Feinted left. Drove right elbow to diaphragm. Hooked ankle behind his stance leg. Dropped him.
But he recovered instantly.
The fight dragged longer than expected.
And for a split second
A distraction.
A memory.
Dark eyes in an infirmary.
His fist caught my jaw.
The crowd roared.
I finished the fight. Won decisively.
But Saadun saw it.
Later, while I washed blood from my hands, he leaned against the stone wall.
“You left the present for a second,” he said calmly.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t push.
Yet.
---
We were running endurance drills when Saadun decided to test me differently.
“You know,” he said casually between strides, “most Alphas here dream of power, conquest, legacy.”
“And?”
“And mine appears to dream of a girl.”
I shot him a glare.
“I do not.
I tackled him into the grass.
He laughed.
“You’re proving my point.”
“Focus on the drill.”
“I am,” he replied smoothly. “On your weak spot.”
I left him in the dirt and kept running.
But his words lingered.
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There were nights when exhaustion won.
And there were nights when it didn’t.
On those nights, I lay awake staring at the ceiling beams of my dormitory, listening to distant howls echo through mountain valleys.
I tried not to remember her.
Tried to convince myself it was nothing more than unfinished responsibility.
Leyla.
Her name surfaced without permission.
The way she held her brother.
The way she did not crumble.
I had not scented a mate bond.
Had not felt the unmistakable pull others described.
My true mate remained unknown.
Somewhere in the world, she existed.
Or perhaps she did not.
Perhaps fate had other designs.
And that unsettled me more than war ever could.
Was Leyla simply a memory my mind romanticized?
Or something else entirely?
I turned onto my side, forcing sleep to claim me.
But even in dreams, dark eyes followed.
---
Near the end of the second year, we were summoned individually before the Council observers.
They spoke of legacy.
Of Silver Claw’s strength.
Of Salma her lineage, her preparation as future Luna.
“Unity must be visible,” one elder said. “Tradition stabilizes a pack.”
I understood what they implied.
Expectation.
Alignment.
Predictability.
Later that evening, I stood alone overlooking the training grounds.
One day, I would return home.
One day, I would lead.
My pack would look to me for protection, justice, direction.
Salma would expect certainty.
The council would expect tradition.
The people would expect strength.
And somewhere in the quiet corners of my mind
A girl who rebuilt herself from ashes lingered.
If fate intended to intertwine our paths, I would not face it unprepared.
If she was nothing more than memory, then memory would not rule me.
Either way
I would return forged.
Stronger.
Steadier.
Ready to lead a pack.
Ready to face destiny.
Ready… for whatever name the Moon chose to whisper next.
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- Writer
