Senior Year: Day One
Elara's POV
The air in Thorneveil territory always smelled like rust and regret. Iron-laced wind scraped against the fortress walls, dragging with it the scent of wet stone, damp leaves, and something metallic that clung to skin and memory alike — blood, maybe, or the ghosts of wolves long silenced.
Before the sun had even considered rising, Elara was awake, hands raw from scrubbing the blood-crusted steps of the northern barracks. A punishment for some warrior's failed patrol, or maybe a show of dominance — the Thorneveil Alphas rarely needed a reason. Beside her, her "mother" — an aging Omega named Mava — moved slowly, her breath fogging the air. The woman never spoke during chores; words, here, were rationed like warmth.
Elara winced as icy water splashed up her wrist. Her hoodie clung damply to her back, the sleeve ripped near the elbow. This wasn't how she imagined starting her senior year at Aetherbourne Academy — the world's most elite school for supernatural bloodlines. But it was all she'd ever known.
At least she had that to look forward to.
Even now, her thoughts flickered to it — the upcoming Prom of the Eclipse. For most, it was the height of glamor: gowns, enchantments, heirs, and power brokers circling like wolves in silk. But underneath all that glitter was the Ceremony of Recognition — the night when mates were revealed by instinct, scent, or fate.
She swallowed.
Her wolf hadn't spoken to her since she was sixteen. Not even a whisper.
She remembered the last time she felt it — a tug beneath her ribs, a strange heat under the full moon, and then… nothing. As if her wolf had turned its back on her. It left a hollow space, one she tried to fill with hope, but doubt crept in more often these days.
What if she didn't have a mate?
What if something inside her was broken?
A sharp whistle cut through the courtyard. Elara's stomach twisted.
Vanya.
She dropped the brush, drying her hands on her pants as she darted toward the estate. The stone corridors were colder than outside. Her boots slapped against the floor, echoing into the high ceilings where portraits of sneering ancestors stared her down.
Vanya Thorneveil was already lounging in a silk robe the colour of envy, her platinum hair in curlers and her nails — polished a cruel shade of crimson — drumming against a porcelain teacup.
"You're late," she said sweetly, venom coiled in every syllable. "Did the rats keep you company, little Elara?"
"I—"
"Don't speak. Just fetch my shoes and braid my hair. I don't want to look like I live with mongrels."
Elara moved on instinct. Shoes first. Hair next — long, precise braids like Vanya demanded. Her fingers moved quickly, even as her thoughts wandered.
You're not a servant, her mother had once whispered.
You're the storm before the moon sings.
Elara wished she could believe that. But it was hard, especially when your morning started with scrubbing blood and ended with Vanya calling you dirt.
Still… she was looking forward to school.
Not just for the status of it — though Aetherbourne was the most prestigious academy in the supernatural world, built with spell-forged towers, floating halls, and sacred crystal archives. No, she looked forward to it for the only good part of her day: her friends.
Wren, the Caelithar girl who had a secret rebellion behind her smiles.
And Theo, the half-dragon with crooked glasses and a mouth full of trouble.
They didn't treat her like an Omega. Or a shadow. Or a ghost.
And they didn't know — not fully — where she came from.
Only Mava and her mate, Ronen, knew that truth. That night, six years ago, they'd left Thorneveil's main gates without permission. A sick pup in their den had needed moonwort root — a rare herb that only grew in the cursed glade past the southern ridge.
They found Elara instead.
Collapsed. Bleeding. Covered in soot and claw marks.
No wolf scent. No pack mark. No memory.
Just the pendant around her neck — a thin gold chain with a crescent moon that pulsed faintly, even in the dark.
They'd taken her in, hidden her, lied for her. Raised her as their own, even if it meant a life of servitude under Alpha Mael's tyranny.
They didn't ask questions. And Elara didn't have answers. Only dreams. Visions. Whispers in her sleep that called her Seraphine.
"Do try not to look homeless when you get to school," Vanya said with a sneer, snapping Elara out of her thoughts. "And don't forget — you carry my bags today. I'm not breaking a nail before the mate ceremony."
Elara dipped her head. "Yes, Miss Vanya."
By the time she slipped out the manor's back gate, the sun had risen weakly through the smog. Her hoodie was still damp. Her backpack was half-zipped. Her shoes had a hole.
But her eyes — storm-grey, flecked with something older — burned with quiet fire.
She may not know where she came from.
She may not have heard her wolf in years.
But this year?
This year, something had to change.
Even if the moon stayed silent.
Even if her mate never found her.
Even if she was still invisible.
Because Elara Vale was done being a shadow.