I woke because someone hurled a bucket of ice-cold water directly into my face.
The impact wasn't a gentle splash, it was a violent, drenching assault, as if the person holding the bucket had a personal, burning grudge against my very existence and wanted to make sure I felt every drop of their contempt. Water cascaded over my head, down my neck, soaking through my torn clothes and plastering hair to my scalp. I gasped, choking on the sudden flood that filled my nose and mouth, coughing violently as frigid rivulets ran into my eyes and stung like needles.
I blinked through the burning haze, trying to orient myself, but movement was impossible. My wrists were bound tightly behind my back with coarse rope that bit deep into the skin, leaving raw, angry welts. My ankles were lashed together just as mercilessly, the knots cruel and unforgiving. Whoever had done this had taken no chances and offered no mercy. I had been trussed up like livestock headed for slaughter, powerless, humiliated, reduced to something less than human.
We were therians, creatures born of both flesh and beast, human heart and wolf soul, even with our abilities, we were supposed to be more than just beasts in cages. Half-wolf, half-mortal, or whatever fractured label the world chose to slap on us, we were never meant to be this helpless.
Yet here I lay, stripped of every scrap of dignity, treated like a rabid beast that needed caging.
I forced my eyes open wider, fighting the sting of water and the lingering fog of whatever sedative still clung to my veins. The room that slowly came into focus was nothing like the cold stone punishment cells of my father's palace, nor the familiar, hated halls of Bloodcrest.
These walls gleamed with polished marble veined in silver and obsidian, rising impossibly high to a vaulted ceiling carved with intricate runes that caught the light and threw it back in shimmering patterns. Towering arched windows allowed sunlight to pour in like molten gold, fractured into jeweled mosaics of crimson, sapphire, and emerald across the floor. The air carried the faint scent of old incense, polished stone, and something sharper, ozone and magic, perhaps, or the lingering trace of powerful wards.
Whoever had designed this place clearly wanted anyone here to feel both awed and crushed beneath the weight of its grandeur. It was beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful: elegant, lethal, and utterly indifferent to the blood it might spill.
Three young ladies stood before the iron-barred cage that held me. There was no fear in their eyes. No hesitation. Only irritation, sharp impatience, and a thinly veiled layer of disdain that made my stomach twist. The one in front... taller, with severe features and hair pulled into a merciless braid—stepped slightly ahead of the others. She held something that made my blood run colder than the water soaking me: the very basin used to baptism me, a small black bowl but big enough to contain a water that can drench me.
"You've been sleeping here for three days," the young lady said, her voice low and clipped with annoyance, "and you're not letting us move forward with orientation."
"Three days?" I croaked, throat raw and swollen. My tongue felt thick, useless. "I could have sworn I was only out for a few minutes…"
Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass. It wasn't rage, it was the exhausted irritation one reserves for a persistent insect that refuses to die. I fell silent instantly.
"Can you please help me out of here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the cold water still dripping from my chin and the ropes carving deeper into my wrists with every small shift.
The young lady hissed, a short, venomous sound devoid of any warmth or sympathy, then spun on her heel without another word. The other two followed in perfect, synchronized steps, their boots clicking efficiently against the marble as though dealing with a soaked, bound prisoner was the least important task on their endless list.
The heavy door clicked shut behind them.
Silence crashed down.
The faint echo of their retreating footsteps lingered for a moment, then faded, leaving me utterly alone in the vast, sunlit chamber.
I leaned my soaked back against the cold iron bars of the cage and exhaled shakily. "Such a bully princess," I muttered under my breath, the words tasting bitter and strangely amusing at the same time. At least someone in this cursed academy was consistent. If nothing else, they possessed the remarkable talent of making me want to claw my way out with my bare, bleeding fingers.
I flexed my wrists again, testing the ropes, searching for any give, any weakness in the knots. Maybe... just maybe... they hadn't tied them quite tight enough. Maybe the water had loosened something. Hope was a dangerous, fragile thing, but it was all I had left.
---
I was still wrestling with the ropes, twisting, pulling, feeling the coarse fibers tear at my skin, when a new set of footsteps approached the chamber. My ears twitched instinctively at the sound, even though my wolf had never answered my call. Just that faint, primal sense of danger that had kept me alive this long.
This time it wasn't the first three. But another trio, but these women carried themselves with a different energy entirely, mature, measured, radiating quiet confidence that made the air feel heavier. Their movements were deliberate, like predators who had long since learned the value of patience. Not the petty impatience of the first group, but something calmer. More dangerous.
"You're finally awake," the one in the lead said. Her voice was calm, but edged with a sharpness that demanded attention.
I managed a single nod, unsure whether I was expected to speak, defend myself, or simply stay silent. I didn't know where I was, not really. I didn't know who these women were. Every survival instinct screamed at me to lash out, to fight, to run, but years of conditioning had taught me better. I forced myself to remain perfectly still.
Are my parents so tired of me they finally sold me off like unwanted livestock?
The bitter thought coiled through my mind. That was the only explanation that made any sense for why I had woken bound and caged like a common criminal, or worse, like some exotic exhibit meant to be studied and broken.
The woman who had spoken, taller than the other two, with warm brown skin and eyes that missed nothing, bent down and unlocked the cage door with a soft click. She gestured for me to step out. Her fingers brushed my thigh briefly as the bars swung open, cool, steady, almost gentle. I rose cautiously, every muscle stiff and protesting from days of immobility.
"Thank you," I said, voice steadier than I felt. Every fiber of my being remained coiled, ready to strike if this kindness proved to be another trap.
She didn't untie me.
She simply watched, waiting to see what I would do next.
"You must be the cursed, wolfless, unloved girl from the Bloodcrest Pack, right?" one of the others asked. Her tone was casual, almost conversational, but the words carried deliberate weight, like stones dropped into still water.
I blinked.
Then I nodded before my brain could catch up and stop me.
Did I just admit to being cursed, unloved...? Fine the wolfless part was true but the realization sliced across my thoughts like a fresh wound.
"Don't call her that, Irene," the first woman snapped, voice cracking through the air like a whip. "She must have a name."
"Like wolfless… cursed… unloved," Irene repeated, utterly unbothered, a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.
I should have been furious. I should have snarled, should have lunged, should have let nine years of swallowed rage finally explode outward. But the sedatives still lingered in my blood, and years of brutal conditioning had taught me that anger only invited harder punishment. It never helped. It only made them come for me with sharper blades and colder eyes.
So I smiled instead.
A thin, polite, utterly meaningless smile, the kind that said: Call me whatever you like. Your words change nothing.
Because deep down I knew the truth words were cheap. Actions were where the real danger lived.
"Don't speak to her like that," the first woman, the one who had unlocked the cage... said firmly. Authority threaded through her tone, but beneath it lay something gentler, almost protective. "And you both are supposed to lead by example, not mock the Purgers."
I couldn't help noticing the kindness in her voice that I even ignored what she just called me. Her voice cut through the haze of humiliation like a single warm ray of sunlight in a frozen wasteland. I appreciated her instantly, she had to be the kindest person I had encountered in a very long time.
"I am leading by example, Ysara," Irene replied with a smug, unrepentant edge.
Ah. Ysara. That explained her patience, her quiet strength, the way she carried herself without ever needing to push others down. A name like that… fitting, my mind noted, though I didn't even know what her name means or why I cared. My brain, as always, was searching for reasons to praise the woman who had at least done one decent thing for me today.
Ysara ignored the jab and turned back to me. "Let's go," she said simply, gesturing forward with a tilt of her head.
I glanced down at my still-bound wrists and ankles, hesitation prickling along my spine. "Shouldn't you untie me first?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, almost wary.
No answer.
Ysara didn't slow. She simply began walking, and when I didn't move fast enough, one of the others gave me a firm push between the shoulder blades. My bound legs scraped awkwardly against the cold stone floor as I stumbled forward, trying desperately to keep my balance.
When we finally stepped outside, the sheer scale of Altheris Academy hit me like a physical blow.
The front courtyard stretched endlessly before us, a vast expanse of polished stone pathways, towering spires that clawed at the sky, and ancient trees whose leaves shimmered with faint magical residue. Hundreds of students moved in disciplined clusters, all dressed in the same crisp black-and-silver uniforms that marked them as property of the academy. The air hummed with low conversation, the distant clash of training weapons, and the undercurrent of raw power that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
My chest tightened until breathing hurt.
This is it.
This is Altheris... Where my father has sentenced me too....
A place where the broken, the dangerous, and the unwanted were sent to either become weapons… or die trying.
I froze for half a second, drinking in the terrifying magnificence of it all.
Then a sudden, vicious shove between my shoulder blades sent me sprawling.
I hit the ground hard... chest first, bound hands unable to break my fall. Gravel bit into my cheek. Laughter erupted instantly from the nearby students, sharp, mocking, delighted.
My ears burned with humiliation and the sharper sting of pure indignity.
I twisted my head, eyes blazing, searching for the one responsible.
My gaze locked onto Irene.
She stood a few steps behind me, lips curved in that same smug, satisfied smile that screamed: I did this....What are you going to do about it?... Nothing.
She must have been the one who pushed me.
And from the gleam in her eyes, she was waiting, almost eagerly, to see exactly how I would react.