Chapter 7 The First Lesson

The Alpha didn't say a word.

He didn't need to.

As soon as he stared at me, it felt like the whole forest shifted, not in sound or movement, but in something deeper. It was as if every tree and every root had suddenly tuned in to our presence. I swallowed hard, realizing just how small I felt standing there at the edge of two worlds.

Elder Corvin stepped back, giving us some space. "This part isn't something you learn through words," he murmured. "It's something you feel."

The Alpha took a slow step forward, stopping just before that invisible line marking the boundary between the forest and the village. Morning mist wrapped around his legs, like the forest was reluctant to let him go. His eyes looked steady, ancient, and piercing. This held mine firmly.

I felt it again.

That pull.

Not a command. Not pressure.

An invitation.

I hesitated for just a heartbeat before inching closer to the boundary. A warm feeling spread from my chest down to my arms. I didn't cross over, but I stood close enough to sense the forest breathe.

The Alpha dipped his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment.

"Good," Corvin said softly from behind me.

The Alpha then turned and began to stroll alongside the boundary, slow and purposeful. Without really thinking about it, I followed on my side. Each step he took, I mirrored, separated only by the thin line neither of us dared to cross.

At first, all I noticed was how alive my senses felt. I could hear his footsteps, even though they barely made a sound. I could feel his focus, sharp but controlled.

Then something shifted.

I started to feel what he felt.

Not in clear thoughts, but in impressions, patience, restraint, vigilance. A heavy sense of responsibility settled in my chest. This wasn't a creature driven by rage or hunger. This was a guardian.

I stumbled a bit, surprised by the weight of it.

The Alpha stopped right away.

His head shot up, eyes narrowing, not in anger, but concern. He waited until my breathing steadied before moving again.

"He's adjusting to you," Corvin called gently. "And you to him."

That realization sent a shiver down my spine.

This wasn't training like I had imagined. There were no commands. No tests of strength. It was all about connection;learning the rhythm of something far older than me without losing who I was.

After a bit, the Alpha halted and turned to face me fully.

Slowly, he sat down.

I followed suit, lowering myself onto the cool ground. The forest hummed softly, a low vibration beneath everything. The Alpha closed his eyes.

I hesitated, then did the same.

At first, my thoughts raced, questions, fear, wonder all tangled together. But gradually, the noise quieted down. I focused on my breath. On the warmth inside me. On the steady presence across the boundary.

Images floated in.

Moonlight filtering through branches. The sound of paws moving in sync. The weight of responsibility again upon protecting territory, protecting balance. Not about domination. Never about domination.

When I opened my eyes, the Alpha was watching me intently.

Something had changed.

Not in the world around us.

But within me.

"You felt it," Corvin said, a note of pride softening his voice. "The difference between instinct and impulse."

I nodded slowly. "It's not about taking," I said, surprised by my own certainty. "It's about holding back."

The Alpha let out a low sound, not a growl, not a warning.

Approval.

He stood, gave me one last steady look, and turned back toward the forest. This time, when he vanished into the trees, it didn't feel like abandonment.

It felt like trust.

Corvin came over, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. "That was your first lesson," he said. "And you passed."

I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath.

"What happens next?" I asked.

Corvin's gaze drifted toward the forest, thoughtful. "Next," he said, "we'll see how well you can hold onto yourself when the world starts pulling harder."

A chill ran down my spine not from fear.

But from anticipation.

Whatever I was becoming, there was no turning back now.

And for the first time, I didn't want to.