POV: Otto Moorland
The letter from Moonrise Academy felt like it was crackling with electricity in Otto's hands as he read it again (maybe the fifteenth time) right there in the cramped kitchen he shared with his family. Needs-based scholarship. Full tuition covered. An academic merit award for outstanding achievement in supernatural studies.
Everything he'd dreamed of, and at the same time, everything that left him scared stiff.
"Still can't wrap your head around it, huh?" His mom, Rebecca, looked up from the breakfast dishes, her smile filled with pride but shadowed by a flicker of worry. At forty-three, she still had that sharp mind that had once made her the top teacher across three counties, before pack politics forced her to choose between her career and protecting their family.
"Feels like a fluke," Otto confessed, adjusting his wire-frame glasses in a nervous twitch that always drove his dad up the wall. "Moonrise is for pack heirs and political royalty, not scholarship kids from some nowhere town in Montana."
"You earned this. Your test scores? Higher than any student they've had in a decade." Rebecca dried her hands and took a seat across from him at their worn wooden table. "This is your shot to show everyone what an Omega can really do."
The weight felt enormous: not just proving he was enough, but proving that all Omegas deserved better treatment than the sideways glances and dismissive looks most packs tossed their way. The thought wound his stomach tight with nerves.
"But what if I can't keep up? What if they figure out I don't belong?"
"Then you study harder than anyone else until they see you do belong." His mother reached across and squeezed his hand firmly. "Being different doesn't mean being less. Keep that close."
Heavy footsteps echoed on the porch: the sound of his father returning from morning border patrol. Alpha James Moorland filled the doorway like a gathering thunderstorm, broad and burdened, worry carved into his face from years spent fighting to keep their small pack alive. At fifty, the constant stress had aged him beyond his years.
"Morning," James grunted, heading straight to the coffee pot. "Council meeting ran late. Blackwood pack's pushing our boundaries again."
Otto's wolf let out a quiet whimper, rattled by the tension pouring off his father. As an Omega, he felt every member's emotions buzzing faintly in his mind: the stress, the worry, the tightrope anxiety of their fragile position, all grinding on his nerves like harsh static.
"So, have you decided on the scholarship?" James asked without looking at him.
"I... yes. I'm going to Moonrise." His voice was smaller than he planned.
James gave a single nod, his face unreadable. "Good. Maybe you'll make connections that help the pack. We sure could use allies."
That casual downgrade of Otto's hard-won achievement to "networking opportunities" stung. He was used to it. Being an Omega meant everything had to be justified by how it could help defend the pack, because his nature was seen as a weakness.
"James," Rebecca's voice cut in, sharp and warning, "this scholarship is for Otto's education, not for pack politics."
"Everything's pack politics when we're barely holding onto territory," James finally said, looking directly at his son. The complicated mixture of love and disappointment they'd carried since Otto's sixteen-year-old designation ceremony was written plain across his face. "You're my blood, son, but this world isn't built for you. Maybe that fancy school can teach you how to survive in it."
His words hit like a gut punch. Otto knew his father wasn't trying to be cruel. James Moorland was a good man stretched thin, trying to protect his family with impossible odds. But the quiet dismissal never quit hurting.
"I should get back to studying," Otto mumbled, slipping away to his tiny bedroom.
The room barely held a bed, a desk, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with every text he'd hunted down on supernatural history, pack politics, and ways to stop conflict from turning deadly. It was the only place where his Omega strengths (analysis, empathy, seeing patterns) were welcome instead of treated like flaws.
He pulled out his latest project: a thorough look at successful peace negotiations between packs over the last hundred years. Months of work, letters with historians across North America, reading through territorial agreements that kept bloodshed at bay.
It was important work. Vital work. The kind that could help small packs like his actually survive the political maze without resorting to violence.
Yet it was exactly the kind of work his own pack would never appreciate: not enough claws, fangs, or dominance to earn their respect.
Otto opened his laptop and started typing his conclusions, losing himself in the familiar world of research and reason, where his mild nature was a strength not a liability. Here was where he could prove Omegas mattered beyond the usual stereotypes.
He just had to figure out how to get the rest of the world to see it.