The sound of crackling fire reaches me before consciousness does.

  It threads through my dreams softly at first, then steadily, until I stir. My eyes flutter open, lashes heavy, vision blurred by the warm haze of waking. Above me, the sky has shifted into deepening shades of amber and violet, the sun hanging low as it sinks behind the trees.

  We are still beside the stream.

  For a moment, confusion drifts through me. The water murmurs gently nearby, the air cool against my skin, the scent of damp earth and pine filling my lungs. Then memory crashes back. The struggle. The collapse. The way my body gave out beneath me.

  I push myself upright slowly, bracing for pain that never fully comes.

  I feel sore, yes. Exhausted. But intact. Stronger than I expect.

  Azrael sits across from me near the fire, one knee bent, forearms resting loosely on his thigh. He watches the flames, his expression distant and thoughtful. Firelight casts shifting shadows across his face, softening the sharp edges I have come to associate with him.

  “You didn’t move me,” I say quietly.

  He glances over. “I thought you might prefer waking out here.”

  A warmth settles in my chest, unfamiliar but welcome. “I do.”

  Silence stretches between us. Not empty. Just weighted.

  “Earlier,” I begin at last, fingers curling into the grass beneath me. “When I asked for help.”

  His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

  “You stepped away,” I continue. “I don’t understand why.”

  He exhales slowly, gaze returning to the fire. “If I had stepped forward, you would have leaned on me instead of yourself.”

  The words sting, even though there is no cruelty in them.

  “I needed you,” I say.

  “I know.” His voice is steady, but tension threads beneath it. “That is exactly why I pulled away.”

  I sit with that truth, letting it settle instead of resisting it.

  “What happened today,” he continues, “was about balance. Your wolf is not something to conquer, nor something to surrender to. She is half of you. But if you allow her to lead entirely, you disappear. And if you silence her, she will fight you.”

  “So I walk a knife’s edge,” I mutter.

  “Yes,” he says simply. “And you did not fail.”

  I look down at my hands. They still tremble faintly, but they are mine. Entirely mine.

  “It hurt,” I admit quietly. “When you withdrew from me.”

  My eyes lift to his. For a moment, I regret speaking.

  “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I never intended to hurt you.”

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  “I thought,” I begin, then falter. “I thought you were afraid of me.”

  A barely visible smile touches his mouth. “I could never be afraid of you.”

  The words sink into my chest, warm and steady. Enough, for now.

  “So what’s next?” I ask after a moment. “More of that?”

  He studies me, truly studies me, and I see the answer before he speaks.

  “Not every day,” he says. “It would break you.”

  Relief loosens something tight inside me. “That’s a relief.”

  “We’re changing things,” he adds. “Tomorrow, we begin combat training.”

  I blink. “Combat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He nudges a log deeper into the fire, sparks leaping upward. “Because one day, I may not be there to protect you.”

  The words strike harder than I expect.

  “One day?” I repeat.

  “The world does not stay still,” he replies. “And neither do people.”

  Unease coils in my stomach, but I do not press.

  “You know I grew up sparring with the Vale pack,” I say lightly.

  “I’m sure you did,” he replies. “But I want to be certain.”

  “That I can hold my own?”

  He nods. “And because your presence may provoke aggression.”

  “Because I’m dangerous?” I ask quietly.

  “Because your emotions are,” he corrects. “Others may want to possess you. Or harm you.”

  The word possess settles cold and heavy in my chest.

  Later, after a long silence, I speak again. “You mentioned something before. About wolves like me being used.”

  His shoulders stiffen.

  “For producing heirs,” I continue. “For control.”

  “Yes,” he says after a long pause. “It has happened.”

  The thought makes my skin crawl.

  “That’s why you want to train me,” I say slowly. “To protect myself.”

  He nods once. “Would you like to hear a story?”

  I nod.

  “One of the legends in that book speaks of a rare kind of wolf,” he begins.

  “They were called omegas.”

  The word tightens something deep inside me.

  “Omegas?” I repeat. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “That’s because the last confirmed one lived nearly five hundred years ago.”

  “What were they?” I ask.

  “Neither alpha nor beta,” he says. “They did not rule through dominance. Nor serve through obedience.”

  “Then what did they do?”

  “They influenced,” he replies. “Instinct. Loyalty. Desire. Order.”

  My wolf stirs uneasily.

  “They once stood equal to alphas,” he continues. “Vital to a pack’s survival.”

  “And then?”

  “And then they were feared,” he says quietly. “So they were forced into submission.”

  My breath catches.

  “They could compel others,” he adds. “Bend will. Influence action. Kings used them to enforce peace.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” I whisper.

  “It was,” he agrees. “Especially in the wrong hands.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They were contained,” he says. “Hidden. Married off. Watched. And when they became inconvenient, they were discarded.”

  The fire snaps sharply.

  “Eventually,” he finishes, “the last one fell.”

  I stare at him. “You’re saying these omegas really existed?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone talk about them now?”

  “Because erasing a truth is easier than living with the guilt of it.”

  My wolf shifts beneath my skin, alert and uneasy.

  “Why tell me this now?” I ask.

  “Because understanding history is the first step to not repeating it.”

  The weight of his words settles deep in my bones.

  And beneath that weight, a quiet, unwelcome realization begins to form.

  What if what happened to them is already happening to me?