The rain had started sometime after midnight. Ryan woke to its soft patter against his window, steady and unrelenting, a kind of drizzle that soaked not just the streets but the air itself. Normally, storms made him restless—they reminded him of nights alone, of foster homes that never quite felt like his. But this one was different. For once, the storm outside felt gentler than the one inside his chest.
He rubbed his face, hair sticking out at odd angles, and pulled on a hoodie. Sleep had been shallow, plagued by flashes of the spectral wolves from his trial. Their howls echoed in the edges of his mind, asking questions he wasn't ready to answer. Staying in bed only made the echoes louder. So, he shoved his feet into sneakers and padded down the hall toward the common kitchen.
The dorm was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the floorboards sound louder than it should. Most students were still asleep. The only company was the low hum of pipes in the walls and the steady drum of rain against the windows.
The kitchen smelled faintly of yesterday's coffee and burnt toast. Ryan filled a kettle, set it to boil, and grabbed a mug. He wasn't a coffee guy—he didn't need the jitters—but tea… tea helped. It grounded him. Maybe it was the warmth. Maybe it was just the small act of making something ordinary in a life that had become anything but.
He had just dropped a teabag into the hot water when the door creaked open.
Ethan stumbled in, looking like he'd wrestled a tornado in his sleep. His hair stuck up in every direction, and his hoodie was on backward. He squinted at Ryan through half-shut eyes.
"Morning," he muttered.
Ryan smirked. "You mean afternoon."
Ethan blinked blearily at the clock and groaned. "Damn. Carla's gonna kill me. We had study group two hours ago." He yawned, stretching like a cat before sniffing at Ryan's mug. "Tea? Dude. That's serial killer behavior."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "It's calming."
"Coffee is calming," Ethan argued. "Tea is what people drink when they've given up on life."
Despite himself, Ryan laughed—a small, uneven sound that startled him more than Ethan. It felt… good.
Ethan grinned, clearly pleased. "There it is. Thought you forgot how."
Ryan's smile faded a little, but not entirely. Ethan didn't know about the crest or the prophecy or Vaelrion. He didn't know how close Ryan had come to losing himself during the trial. But Ethan's presence, his dumb jokes and sleepy grin—it was grounding. Normal. Something Ryan hadn't realized he needed.
"You've been different lately," Ethan said suddenly, studying him.
Ryan stiffened. "Different how?"
"More serious," Ethan said with a shrug. "Like you're carrying the world around in that hoodie. But hey—" He nudged Ryan's mug. "—you still make tea, so maybe there's hope."
Ryan let out a low chuckle. "You worry too much."
"And you don't worry enough."
Before Ryan could respond, the door opened again. A girl peeked in, hesitating in the doorway. She clutched a coil of bowstring in her hands, like she wasn't sure if she belonged here.
Ryan recognized her after a moment—Maya. The girl from the archery field.
"Uh—sorry," she said softly. "Am I interrupting?"
Ethan waved her in cheerfully. "Not at all. Come hide from the rain. The tea-drinker here won't bite."
Ryan shot him a look but said nothing.
Maya stepped inside, shoulders hunched like she expected someone to tell her to leave. She sat at the far end of the table, fiddling with the bowstring. "I, um… just wanted to say thanks. For helping me yesterday."
Ryan shrugged, sipping his tea. "You did the work."
Her lips curved in a small, almost shy smile. "Still. No one's ever taken the time before."
Something in her tone hit him harder than it should have. Maybe because he knew what it felt like to be overlooked, to be dismissed as not worth the effort.
The resonance in his chest stirred, faint but undeniable. It reached toward her, easing the tension in her shoulders, smoothing the worry from her face. Ryan clenched his jaw, forcing it back. He wasn't ready to lean on that power—not when he didn't understand how much of it was him, and how much was the mark.
But Maya smiled a little brighter, and for some reason, that mattered.
By afternoon, the rain had turned the courtyard into a patchwork of puddles, reflecting gray skies and skeletal trees. Classes were cancelled, leaving the dorm buzzing with restless energy.
Ryan ended up in the library, seated across from Aria. She had buried them under towers of books, most of them worn records of folklore and old wolf bloodlines. The air smelled of dust and parchment. Ryan was supposed to be studying, but his eyes kept drifting to the condensation streaking the window.
"You're distracted," Aria said without looking up.
"Maybe because you buried us under a mountain of paper," he muttered.
"Knowledge is survival." She slid a brittle page across the table, her finger tapping a passage. "Read this."
The translation scribbled in the margins caught his attention: The Alpha is not a crown, but a mirror. In him, others see what they are capable of becoming.
Ryan frowned. "A mirror?"
Aria finally looked up, her gaze steady. "It means your strength isn't just yours. It reflects in those who follow you."
Ryan's hand tightened around his sleeve, the faint glow of the crest pulsing beneath. A mirror. The thought unsettled him. If others drew strength from him, what happened if he cracked?
As if sensing the doubt, Aria's voice softened. "That's why packs matter. Not to worship the Alpha. To remind him he's not alone."
Her words lingered long after they left the library.
By evening, Ethan dragged them into the rec hall, declaring it a "rainy-day reset." The room buzzed with life—students sprawled across couches, laughter echoing, a board game in progress at the center. The warm lamplight made the whole place feel like a refuge from the storm.
Ryan sat stiffly at first, unsure how to fit into the easy rhythm of it. Maya hovered awkwardly nearby until he shifted to make space.
"You can sit," he offered.
She did, giving him a tentative smile.
The game was chaotic, full of wild gestures from Ethan, cautious but clever moves from Maya, and Ryan fumbling along until he caught on. He laughed—really laughed—when Ethan accused them of teaming up against him, clutching his chest in mock betrayal.
It felt strange, this kind of happiness. Fragile, fleeting, but real. For the first time in weeks, Ryan wasn't thinking about Vaelrion, or the prophecy, or the weight of the mark. He was just a boy, playing a game, surrounded by people who didn't make him feel alone.
When the game ended, Maya leaned closer, her voice barely above the chatter. "It's nice… feeling like I belong somewhere."
Her words echoed in his chest like a promise. He didn't know how to answer, so he just nodded.
The system whispered quietly in his mind.
[Bond Strengthened: Maya.][Status: Potential Pack Member—Developing.]
Ryan froze. He looked at Maya, at Ethan still laughing on the couch, at Aria across the room flipping through a deck of cards with detached amusement. A pack. This wasn't about titles or quests. It was about moments like this—trust built in laughter and silence, in small acts of kindness no one else noticed.
Later that night, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Ryan lay awake in his dorm, staring at the ceiling, the hum of resonance steady in his chest.
Ethan's laughter. Maya's hesitant smile. Aria's unwavering gaze.
A mirror.
He pressed his palm over the glowing crest. For the first time, he didn't feel like prey waiting for Vaelrion's strike. He felt like someone standing at the beginning of something fragile, terrifying, and necessary.
A pack.
And the thought of losing it scared him more than the prophecy ever could.