Bloom

Preparation

McKenna — The Morning of the Ceremony of Strength

“Your braid is crooked.”

“Then stop looking at it.”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

“And I’m trying to preserve what remains of my scalp. We all have our struggles.”

McKayla sighed behind me.

I smiled at our reflection.

There were advantages to having a twin. Someone to share secrets with, someone who knew when a smile was forced, and someone who could tell you that you looked terrible without worrying about hurting your feelings.

There were disadvantages, too.

Most of them involved having no personal space.

“Hold still,” she ordered.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She tugged the ribbon into place.

“Ow.”

“That one was deserved.”

I turned to face her, and she finally laughed. The sound loosened something tight in my chest. For a moment, the ceremony waiting for us outside our bedroom felt far away.

Then her smile faded.

“Are you frightened?”

It would have been easy to make a joke. I had a whole collection ready for occasions like this. But McKayla had always been able to hear the truth hiding beneath my humour.

“A little,” I admitted.

“Of the assessment?”

“Of what happens after it.”

She sat beside me on the edge of the bed.

At twenty-one, every wolf in our pack was expected to complete the Ceremony of Strength. The assessment was only part of it. Our abilities would be evaluated, our roles considered, and that night we would enter the wilderness alone to face our first shift.

Everyone spoke about the ceremony as though it were a celebration.

Very few spoke about the possibility of returning from it different.

McKayla brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face.

“We've trained for this.”

“You've trained for this.”

“So have you.”

“Apparently, my training has been very effective at producing half a point.”

Her expression tightened.

“Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Talk about yourself as though you're a number.”

I looked down at my hands.

It was easy for her to say. The pack had never reduced her to a number. Her gift had earned her praise, expectations and a future people were already eager to plan.

I didn't begrudge her any of it.

I only wished the same people could look at me without first deciding what I lacked.

McKayla took my hand. We had shared that small, strange connection for as long as I could remember—a closeness that sometimes went beyond ordinary understanding. When one of us was hurt, the other rarely remained untouched by it.

Neither of us knew exactly why.

We had learned not to ask questions the elders couldn't answer.

“Whatever they say today,” she whispered, “you are still my sister.”

My throat tightened.

“I should hope so. You've already invested years in annoying me. It would be a waste to start over with someone else.”

She laughed again and leaned her forehead against mine.

“Together?”

“Together.”

I held on to the word as though it could protect us from everything waiting outside.

---

Dad was waiting downstairs when we emerged.

He had dressed for the ceremony, but his usual ease was missing. He checked the fastening at McKayla's collar, then straightened mine, though there was nothing wrong with either.

“You both look ready,” he said.

“That's because McKayla did all the work,” I replied.

“And yet you're the one who complains the most.”

“It's a gift.”

Dad chuckled, but his eyes stayed on me.

“Come here, Kenna.”

I stepped closer.

He rested his hands on my shoulders. “Today will bring opinions. Some will be fair, some won't. You can't control either.”

“Can I at least disagree with the unfair ones?”

“By all means.”

“Excellent. I have a list.”

His smile warmed, then settled into something more serious.

“Listen to me. An ability can tell people what you can do. It cannot tell them what you will choose to do with your life.”

I wanted to believe him.

I really did.

But Dad had lived long enough in this pack to know that people rarely stopped at measuring your abilities. They used the results to measure your worth, too.

“What if they decide I have no place here?” I asked.

“Then you will have to decide whether their judgment deserves to become your own.”

He squeezed my shoulders before letting me go.

I followed him outside with McKayla beside me, carrying his words and trying not to think about how difficult they might be to live by.

---

The ceremonial grounds were already crowded.

Families gathered beneath the trees while elders arranged themselves on the raised platform at the far end of the clearing. The candidates stood together near the centre, some laughing too loudly, others silent with nerves.

I recognised the familiar signs of confidence: straight backs, lifted chins, the occasional boast about an ability that hadn't even been tested yet.

I kept my mouth shut.

It wasn't modesty. I simply preferred not to advertise a disappointment before it had officially arrived.

McKayla received several greetings as we crossed the clearing. A woman from the healing group stopped to wish her luck, reminding her that the pack would need skilled healers for years to come.

McKayla thanked her, gracious as always.

I stood beside her, smiling politely.

The woman glanced at me.

“And you, dear. Try not to worry. Everyone has a purpose.”

I wondered if she rehearsed that line before approaching anyone she considered a lost cause.

“That's comforting,” I said. “I'll be sure to ask for mine at the registration desk.”

McKayla nudged my elbow before the woman could respond.

We moved on.

“You could try being nice,” my sister murmured.

“I was nice. I didn't tell her what I thought of her advice.”

“That isn't the same thing.”

“It is when I have excellent self-control.”

She shook her head, but I caught the small smile she tried to hide.

Ahead of us, the elder responsible for the ceremony raised his staff. The conversations gradually faded.

“Candidates,” he called. “Take your places.”

We joined the others.

The ceremony was older than anyone in our generation could remember. Its rules had been passed down through the pack: each wolf reaching twenty-one would undergo an assessment, demonstrate any known ability, and receive guidance regarding training and responsibilities. No one was expected to master their full potential in a single morning, but the results would influence what opportunities came next.

The final stage was the first shift.

That part could not be completed here, among witnesses and familiar faces. We would go into the wilderness alone and face the change without our families beside us. We were expected to return when it was over.

Some candidates spoke of that night with excitement.

Others looked towards the forest as though it were already calling them.

I tried not to look at it at all.

The elder began calling names.

One by one, the candidates stepped forward to demonstrate their abilities. A young man displayed impressive speed. Another showed an aptitude for tracking that earned several approving nods. Each result was recorded, and each candidate returned to the crowd carrying either pride or disappointment.

The process was orderly.

That, I suspected, was part of its appeal. The elders liked things they could observe, measure and place into categories.

People were considerably less convenient.

“McKayla Rochester.”

My sister squeezed my hand before stepping forward.

I watched her take her place before the elders. When asked to demonstrate her gift, she placed her palm over a shallow cut on a volunteer's forearm. Her focus sharpened, and the wound gradually closed beneath her touch.

The crowd murmured its approval.

“An effective healing ability,” one elder announced. “With further training, she may become a valuable asset to the pack.”

McKayla returned to us, trying to hide her pleasure.

I caught her hand.

“You were wonderful.”

“It was only a small cut.”

“And yet you healed it. I, on the other hand, would probably have asked where the nearest bandage was.”

“You're impossible.”

“Consistently.”

Her fingers squeezed mine. I was proud of her. I had always been proud of her.

I only hoped that one day I could stand beside her without the pack treating us as a comparison.

The elder consulted his records again.

“McKenna Rochester.”

The chatter died away in patches as I walked forward.

I knew what they expected. I had seen the looks, heard the whispers and watched people make their minds up long before I ever stood before an assessor.

Still, I straightened my shoulders.

If nothing else, I could refuse to make their judgment easier for them.

The elder checked the record.

“Your previous assessment stands at zero point five. We will confirm whether there has been any change.”

I nodded.

The instructions were familiar. I focused as I had been taught, searching for the signs of an ability, trying to summon whatever the assessors had spent years telling me should be there.

Nothing answered.

I tried again.

The silence around me grew uncomfortable.

At last, the elder lowered his hand and marked the result.

“No significant change.”

A whisper passed through the crowd.

I couldn't make out the words, but I knew the shape of them. I had heard enough versions over the years to recognise the tune.

I walked back to my family without looking at anyone.

McKayla moved towards me, concern written plainly across her face. I gave her a small shake of my head. I wasn't rejecting her. I only needed a moment to stand on my own without being comforted for something I had not yet decided to mourn.

Dad placed a steady hand on my shoulder.

He didn't offer excuses. He didn't tell me the elders were wrong. He didn't promise that everything would somehow work out.

He simply stayed.

For that, I loved him more than I could say.

The remaining assessments continued. I listened when I could and let the rest blur into the background. My result had been recorded. Whatever the elders thought it meant, they would not change their minds because I stood there wishing they would.

By midday, the formal assessments were complete. The elders withdrew to review the results and discuss the next stage of the ceremony.

The first shift awaited us that night.

Alone in the wilderness.

I had spent years being told what I couldn't do. Now I was expected to face a part of myself no one could guide me through, and I wasn't sure whether that frightened me more than the assessment had.

McKayla linked her arm through mine as we left the clearing.

“We have a few hours to rest before we need to prepare,” she said.

“Rest. Wonderful. I'll spend it imagining every possible way tonight could go wrong.”

“Or you could try to relax.”

“That's my second choice.”

She leaned against me as we walked, our shoulders touching.

For now, she was here. Dad was here. The familiar sounds of the pack followed us along the path.

I didn't know what the wilderness would ask of me, or what I would bring back when I returned.

But tonight, I would face it.

Not because the elders had decided I was ready.

Because no one else could take that step for me.