The Alpha of the 13th District

Outside the Temple, Ashen Woods minutes before nightfall.

The sky is gloomy. It's not afternoon.

Nor is it night.

It's like a broken mirror in the sky with cracks of light and shadow, fighting together. The clouds are gray and blue, rolling as if something is about to burst.

Around, ravens begin to circle in the air, low, fierce, as if guarding.

Kiera was about to leave the temple, her cloak whipping in the wind, her steps heavy on the ground. But before she could completely leave the clearing, a cold hand grabbed her wrist.

Kiera gasped as the contact sent a bolt of vision through her mind.

Her vision suddenly brightened, but it's not the world.

She saw a vision.

A battle.

The sky is burning.

The ground is soaked in blood.

And in the middle, Asher is kneeling.

He's not angry. He's not fighting.

He's just holding the side of his ribs bloody.

And in front of him...Kiera. Holding a sword. Silver fire drips from its tip.

She is the one who will kill.

Kiera gasped. She quickly pulled back her wrist.

But the Seer didn't let go.

"You're not just the mate," the Seer hissed, the smoke around her curling tighter. "You are the key. The beginning of its awakening... or the final silence it fears"

Kiera's chest tightened.

"Can I not be? What if I choose neither?" she asked, almost whispering, but with tears behind the anger.

The Seer tilted her head.

Something cold in its voice that made her body tremble.

"Then the Veil will decide in your silence and it never shows mercy only consequence."

The wind suddenly picked up. The ravens flew away. The trees around bowed to an unseen force.

The Seer approached, her face partially illuminated by the light of the sky. There's a streak of blood on the side of her eye not from a wound, but like a ritual.

And in the strongest voice, she whispered. "If your heart chooses him, your hand must end him. If you hesitate the fire won't stop at your doorstep. It will devour the world."

Suddenly, lightning struck. A loud bang shattered the silence.

Kiera stopped.

She felt something heat up on her skin. She slowly looked at her right hand. The bond mark has changed.

It's no longer a small sigil. Now it's like silver roots like roots of fire sprouting upwards, creeping up her arm. And each pulse of it is like the beat of another heart.

Not hers.

She stepped back.

"What is this? What... am I becoming?" she whispered, almost inaudible over the sound of the rain that suddenly poured from the sky.

In the distance, a raven fell from the air. It's no longer alive.

Not because of a hit, but because of the excessive amount of energy around.

The Seer slowly walks back to the temple, without looking back.

Before it was completely swallowed by the clouds, she heard it speak like a warning.

"You were never meant to be just a bond. You were meant to break something ancient."

When Kiera looked back, the Seer was gone.

There was no trace of footsteps.

No clouds only ash and a raven left behind, with white wings.

The Locked Room.

Midnight.

The Alpha's private wing.

Thunderstorms growl beyond the high windows. Ancient runes shimmer on the locked door. The corridor was supposed to be silent.

But Kiera's every step on the marble felt like a blow to her chest.

She was at the far end of the Alpha's wing, a place forbidden even to the Beta. Here were hidden secrets that couldn't bear the light.

Before her stood a door—black, solid, carved with etchings that seemed ancient. The old symbol of the Luna Crest was carved into the wood, but something new surrounded it: runes that shimmered in the darkness.

Like a warning.

And against all logic, Kiera's hand lifted.

The lock turned with an unnatural groan. She wasn't sure if she had the power to open it, or if the ghosts of the past were simply letting her in.

Dust greeted her. Thick. As if it hadn't been opened in years.

A faint scent of metal and rot tingled at her nose.

Inside a table laden with old record books, documents devoured by time. On the walls, cabinets made of black wood—one with claw marks. Deep. As if an animal had tried to force it open from within.

Kiera approached slowly, stroking the spine of a thick book.

She noticed the labels:

Confidential: District 13

Evacuation.

Classified: Incident Reports.

13th Region.

MASSACRE: DISTRICT 13

"Massacre?" It felt like a punch to her stomach.

Why was Asher hiding this? Why hadn't anyone mentioned it, not even the council?

Even she, as Luna in training, had never seen these files.

Slowly, she opened the thickest folder.

There were pictures. Aerial shots.

Fire. Bodies. Houses consumed by fire.

Cold sweat dripped down her spine.

Then she saw it.

A list of names. Victims. Mostly redacted. But one line stood out—written not in ink, but what looked like dried blood:

[Redacted] Age: 10 – Status: Sole Survivor.

Then, underneath, written in shaking script: Asher Navarro.

The world stopped. The surroundings seemed to lose all sound.

He was alive… but how? I thought… he had no family.

She remembered Asher during Trial 4—how he'd thrown himself between her and the shadowbeast, taking the hit that should've killed him.

But what if… it didn't hurt him because he wasn't supposed to be hurt by shadows?

She flipped the page. No words.

No explanation. Just a black feather pressed between two bloodstained pages.

She stared at it. Something was wrong with the feather.

It didn't seem to be from a raven.

It pulsed with dark energy—cold, like the night they were almost killed by shadowbeasts in the 7th trial.

And as she reached for it. The thunder roared. Flicker. The lights blinked.

Then a violent gust of wind—not from outside.

From inside the room.

The folder snapped shut—on her hand.

"Agh!" she gasped, pulling her fingers away.

But the folder didn't fall. It hovered.

Then landed gently on the desk. As if something had closed it.

At the edge of the room, she felt a cold presence. Not just air. Like eyes watching in the darkness.

And as she wiped the slight blood from her hand, she whispered: You weren't just saved from the massacre, were you, Asher? You ended it.

Behind her, a shadow moved—silent, winged, watching.

Candlelit archive room. Storm raging outside. Shadows flicker on the walls like restless spirits.

The wind roared outside. Like a scream that never reached the world.

Kiera sat on the floor, cross-legged, the black feather resting on her open palm.

The candlelight made it shimmer—not black, it had a blue halo. Purple. Colors she couldn't name.

It wasn't from a raven. Nor from any animal she knew.

"This… is fae."

Her breath caught in her throat.

She'd seen feathers like this before—once, in a forbidden scroll in the Third Trial Temple archives. Only beings that could pass through dimensions—shadowfae, dreamwalkers, or winged elementals—possessed feathers like these. But that scroll had been dismissed as mythology.

And yet, here it was. Alive. Before her.

Wings don't just fall into massacre sites…she murmured, voice trembling, Unless something tried to fly away… and failed.

She set the feather gently beside her and rummaged through the pile of forgotten files.

She only wanted to find one thing—any connection.

Clues. Symbols. Then she saw it.

A folder that shouldn't have been saved. The edge was almost burnt. Traces of ash on the cover. But the contents were intact.

She opened it.

She saw a diagrams. Sigils. The old language of the Alpha bloodline, mixed with an even older script—rune curses used only in interdimensional bans.

One symbol glowed faintly as the candlelight hit it. Like the energy emanating from the feather.

She touched the page. Warm. Then she noticed the background of the parchment. Melted.

Like it had been burned—but the burning wasn't finished. Someone tried to burn this file.

They started. But someone intervened. Someone saved it.

Someone didn't want this erased completely, she whispered. But someone else… couldn't let it be lost either.

And on the back of the folder—written in white ink, barely visible: Kept. By order of Alpha Navarro. Do not move.—For the future to remember. Or to fear.

She froze.

Asher kept this?

So… he hadn't forgotten what happened in District 13. He still chose to remember. But why? For justice? Or a reminder of how monstrous he was?

Kiera looked back at the feather.

It pulsed once. Like a heartbeat. Then—suddenly—heat bloomed on her palm.

She screamed.

The feather—it was burning. But there was no fire.

It just disintegrated in slow, glowing embers. It wasn't simply burned—it chose to vanish.

"What's—"

Then pain. Intense. Deeper than skin deep.

She opened her hand—and gasped.

Imprinted. On her very palm.

A rune. A circle with wings lined in the middle—part sigil, part curse.

Glowing faint red. And binding.

Kiera's eyes widened as her breath caught.

It wasn't a tattoo.

Nor was it an illusion.

It felt… alive.

Pulsing in sync with her heartbeat.

What are you hiding from me, Asher?

She stood, unsteady, while the storm still raged outside.

The winds howled louder now.

The shadows on the wall were dancing more violently, like spirits reacting to what she'd uncovered.

Then her gaze fell back to the table. In the corner of the table, a page was hidden under other records.

She pulled it out. It had no title. Just a single line—handwritten, furious, and sharp:

He wasn't the only survivor. He's the reason no one else was.

Kiera backed away—hand glowing, storm howling—and somewhere deep in the manor, a low growl echoed.

Not just from any wolf. From Asher.

Same archive room.

Power out.

Darkness swallowing everything—except the faint glow from the rune in Kiera's palm.

A loud crack of thunder split the sky.

Then—darkness.

All the candles suddenly died,

as if the wind was extinguishing all the light in the world.

Kiera gasped, spinning around. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

She was in the middle of the archive room.

No light. No sound, except the sound of rain on the roof and the faint, rhythmic pulsing of the rune on her palm.

Glowing red.

Guiding her.

Condemning her.