The morning after the attack, the halls of Astrea buzzed with quiet murmurs and stolen glances. Ellona walked with steady steps, ignoring the way conversations hushed when she passed. Her uniform felt heavier today—as if soaked in eyes and whispers.
---
Later that morning, the first subject was announced: Advanced Werewolf Behavioral Studies. A fitting lesson, given yesterday’s chaos.
The classroom walls were etched with claw marks and moonstone veins. Professor Vael, a werewolf elder with silvery hair, paced in front of the board.
"What you saw yesterday wasn’t just a fight—it was a lapse in bond control," he said gravely. “Werewolves don’t shift at random. Not unless their emotional anchors are broken.”
He drew a rune diagram of the Crimson Pack’s mental link. “The mind of a werewolf is rooted in instinct. Rage. Loyalty. Pain. Understanding that bond is crucial.”
Ellona shifted in her seat.
“What happens when a werewolf senses something they don’t understand?” someone asked.
“They lose themselves.”
At the back of the room, Timothy stared out the window, jaw clenched. Leon, bruised but quiet, didn’t speak a word.
“Now,” Professor Vael turned, “we’ll begin simulated scent mapping. Pair up. Track the soulprint trails.”
Davon hesitated, then moved to Ellona’s side.
“You’re stuck with me,” he said, voice neutral.
“I’ve been through worse,” she replied.
Their task: locate hidden tokens infused with werewolf aura. But Davon kept glancing at her between steps.
“That magic yesterday…” he muttered. “You really didn’t know it was coming?”
“I didn’t,” Ellona said firmly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
---
By midday, the air smelled like herbs, chalk, and exhaustion.
The second lesson: Potion Craft.
Held in a warm, vine-wrapped greenhouse hall, the class was led by Mistress Noemi—a witch with mismatched eyes and an ever-shifting cloak.
“Today,” she announced, “you’ll each brew a base restoration tonic. Failure will result in… mild explosions. Hopefully.”
Tatiana beamed. “Finally, something fun.”
Ellona stood between her and Timothy, measuring dewroot powder with precision.
“Smells like sour milk,” Timothy muttered.
“It’s supposed to,” Ellona replied. “Means it’s working.”
Tatiana whispered, “You’re scarily good at this.”
Ellona stirred her mixture. “My grandmother taught me. She made her own medicine.”
Their cauldron let out a soft puff of golden smoke—success.
---
Afternoon drifted into evening. Students scattered across the school. Some to club halls, others to the library.
Ellona walked alone between the marble archways of the library wing. Shelves stretched like towers. Books whispered.
She reached for a tome labeled Legends of Hybrid Lineages, but a hand beat her to it.
Cyrus.
“Looking for bedtime stories?” he asked lightly.
“Looking for answers,” she said.
He tilted his head. “You won’t find yours in that one. It’s outdated.”
“Then where should I look?”
He smiled, but didn’t answer. “Be careful, Ellona. The more you dig, the more others will start watching.”
He handed her the book anyway.
---
Back at the mountain cottage, Ellona’s grandmother sat beside Ellaire once again.
“She’s walking your path now,” she whispered.
The candles flickered.
“You were right to choose Astrea.”
Ellaire’s fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
---
Meanwhile, Summer stood on the training deck, arms crossed, watching the moon rise.
“She’s hiding something,” she whispered.
Behind her, Davon appeared, brows furrowed.
“Maybe,” he said. “But that doesn’t make her dangerous.”
Summer turned. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”
Davon didn’t reply.
---
Night settled. In her room, Ellona sat beside the window, her mother’s locket in her hand.
She opened it again.
The faint whisper of a charm spell echoed—and this time, she didn’t flinch.
Something old stirred in her blood.
To be continued...
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