THE ALPHA'S FATED MUTE

The Warrior's Camp

The first morning in the warrior’s camp was nothing like Amanda imagined.

The sun had barely risen when the sharp blast of a horn jolted her awake. She scrambled from her bunk, heart pounding, only to be shoved aside by another trainee rushing past. Her throat tightened, but no sound escaped—her voice, as always, locked away.

“Move, mute!” one of the girls hissed, shoving her again as they lined up outside. Laughter followed, low and cruel, and Amanda bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. Even here, she wasn't free from her bullies. She thought to herself, and her wolf growled in defiance at the back of her mind.

A towering figure strode forward, his presence alone silencing the whispers. His hair was dark, cropped close, and his eyes—steel gray—cut through the line like blades.

“Sergei Volkov,” someone muttered under their breath. “The General of Hell.”

Amanda swallowed.

“Line up straight,” he barked, his voice like thunder. “You are not here to play," he started to say as he walked towards them as they stood in a line. "You are here to bleed, to break, and to rebuild stronger than you ever imagined. If you can’t handle it—leave now.”

No one moved.

"I need to see how well you guys move. I need to know what I am working with, so I will be pairing you guys." When the warriors began to murmur among themselves, he continued, "Your gender doesn't matter," he said, as though to shut out the murmurs.

Sergei’s gaze fell on Amanda. He looked at her too long, his brow furrowing as though he sensed weakness. “You. Step forward.”

Her body froze. Her fingers trembled, but she obeyed, stepping into the dirt clearing where everyone could see her.

Sergei circled her once, a predator sizing up its prey. “I hear you can’t speak. A wolf with no voice.” He smirked, the sound cruel. “Tell me, girl—how do you plan to command a battlefield if you can’t even command your tongue?”

Laughter erupted behind her, sharp and cutting. Amanda’s cheeks burned. Her nails dug into her palms until crescent moons formed on her skin.

But she lifted her chin. Slowly, she raised her hands and signed, sharp and precise: I don’t need a voice to fight.

The camp grew quiet. Some whispered, confused. Others snickered. But Sergei’s expression shifted, just barely, as though her defiance caught him off guard.

Then, he barked a harsh laugh. “We’ll see, mute. We’ll see if your fists speak louder than your silence.”

He turned away, snapping his fingers. “Pair her with the strongest. Let’s test if her courage is real.”

A boy twice Amanda’s size stepped forward, grinning cruelly. He cracked his knuckles, already eager for blood.

Amanda’s stomach knotted, fear clawing at her chest. But deep down, her wolf stirred, pressing against her skin, whispering strength.

Kara, she thought, her silent anchor. We’ll show them.

The fight was about to begin.

The boy who stepped forward was a mountain of muscle, his grin cruel. His wolf’s presence pressed heavily on Amanda’s skin, daring her to falter.

“Don’t hold back, Ivan,” Sergei ordered, folding his arms. His cold gray eyes never left Amanda. “Let’s see if the mute can survive even a single round.”

"This is not fair, sir. What if I break more than her voice?" Ivan said with a mocking pout.

"Don't act cheeky with me, Ivan," Sergei replied in a harsh voice, but his face was nothing short of harsh.

Ivan smirked and started cracking his fingers and neck. Then he began circling her like a predator. “This’ll be fun.”

Amanda shifted her stance, every nerve in her body alight with fear. Her wolf, Kara, pushed at the edges of her mind, growling for her not to retreat.

Stand tall.

Ivan lunged first. His fist was a blur. Amanda ducked—too slow. His knuckles cracked against her jaw, and the world spun. She staggered back, the taste of iron flooding her mouth. I need to work on that, she mentally noted to herself, but the fight wasn't over yet.

Laughter erupted from the trainees.

"The fight isn't over yet, mute. Where is your head at?" she suddenly heard Ivan say from behind her before tripping her. She managed to get up again and turned to face Ivan, where he stood with a mocking grin on his face.

“Pathetic!” someone shouted.

Amanda shook her head, vision blurring. Her hands clenched. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—stay down.

With a burst of desperation, she darted forward, landing a weak punch against Ivan’s ribs. The impact barely made him grunt, but for her, it was a victory. She heard Kara’s approving snarl inside her chest.

But Ivan only laughed. “That's all you got?”

His fist came again. This time, straight to her stomach. Air rushed from her lungs. She collapsed to her knees, gasping silently, her fingers clawing at the dirt.

“Enough.” Sergei’s voice cut through the arena like a blade.

Ivan stepped back, smirking, unscathed. Amanda stayed on the ground, trembling, the sting of humiliation burning hotter than the pain in her body.

The other trainees whispered, snickering. Mute. Weak. Useless.

Sergei’s boots stopped in front of her. Slowly, Amanda forced herself to look up. His cold eyes studied her, unreadable.

“You lasted longer than I thought,” he said flatly, "But don’t mistake that for strength. Right now, you are nothing.”

His words sliced deeper than Ivan’s fists.

"Just like you all are nothing. In this camp, you will be training like there is no tomorrow. I don't want anyone to think just because they are the next Alpha, Beta, or whatever, they will slack off," he kept on saying, and Amanda turned him off, lowering her gaze.

But as Amanda lowered her gaze, her fists curled tighter. Her body ached, her pride was shredded, but something inside her refused to break.

Then he turned to her, "Mute!" he called out to her, "20 laps around the training ground. The more you lose, the more laps you run."

Amanda could not say anything; she only nodded her head and stood frozen in place as everyone left the trainin.g ground, mocking her and hitting her as they left, followed by snickers.

She might be nothing now.

But not forever.