Elara POV:
The great oak doors of the Great Hall boomed shut behind me, silencing the uproar. As they closed, they stirred up a stale tang of ancient rot and rust, and a cold draft scraped along the back of my hand, carrying with it the rough splinters of the doorjamb.
The cool night air washed over my heated skin. I pulled my thin shawl tighter around my shoulders, breathing in the scent of the damp earth and distant pine.
"Elara! Stop right there!"
I paused on the cobblestone path and turned around. Lyra was marching toward me, her heavy leather boots thudding aggressively against the stones. Her scent—a sharp mix of wild mint and fresh blood—flared with irritation.
"Have you lost your mind?" Lyra demanded, grabbing my arm. Her grip was a casual, painful display of a Warrior's strength against an Omega's more delicate frame.
I gently but firmly pulled my arm away from her grasp.
"I am perfectly sane, Lyra," I said, keeping my voice even.
"The Royal City is a slaughterhouse!" Lyra hissed, looking around as if the King's guards were hiding in the shadows. "The females there will tear a weak Omega like you to shreds."
I looked at my sister, really looked at her. She was beautiful, wild, and untamed. She was a perfect echo of our late mother, a legendary female Warrior who had died bringing me into this world.
"We want different things out of life, sister," I replied calmly. "You want to run in the forest and bathe in the blood of Rogues. I want the absolute protection and power that only the Royal City can offer."
Lyra stared at me, her mouth slightly open, completely stunned. She had never heard me speak with such cold ambition.
"You belong here, with the pack," she said, though her voice lacked its usual certainty.
I turned my gaze to the dark silhouette of the forest edge. In the dream, I had followed them into those woods, desperate to be the daughter my father wanted, and returned covered in mud and shame. I was done chasing approval that would never come.
"I am not you, Lyra," I said softly. "And I am done trying to be your shadow."
Lyra blinked, hurt flashing in her eyes for a fraction of a second.
"I need walls. I need guards. I need a roof that doesn't leak when the winter storms come," I explained. "I am an Omega. My biology demands safety, and I will not apologize for seeking it."
I didn't wait for her to respond. My heel ground a half-circle on the rough flagstones. For a second, I wanted to turn back and see the bewilderment in her eyes, but I ended up just crumpling the hem of my shawl tighter and stepping into the corridor's deep shadow.
My mind was already racing, calculating the steps I needed to take. The Luna Selection was not a contest; it was a crucible of beauty and cunning, gathering the most ambitious females from across the continent. They would all be fighting for the seat beside the Alpha King.
I knew my physical strength was zero. But I had the Moon Goddess's warning carved into my memory—every face, every betrayal, every moment that would lead to my death—and I had a mind that was finally awake.
I opened the door to my small, drafty chamber and stepped inside. The true battle had not yet begun.
But somewhere deep in the shadows of the Royal City, a King with golden eyes waited. And if I was right about what the dream had shown me, he was not merely a tyrant to be feared—he was a storm I would have to learn to weather, or be destroyed by. The dream had shown me the glint of a crown and a throne room splashed with blood. I did not yet know whose blood it was. I only knew I had to ensure it was not mine.
