Chapter 2 Victor

Vix was still held down like a second skin by the stifling silence of the hall. Her bare feet felt cold on the rough-hewn flooring as she paced the length of her chamber. She felt a storm of frustration and a strong need for change as she processed the reverberation of her father's statements, her mother's resigned expression, and Damon's contemptuous remarks.

But the news about Blackwood Academy had sown a seed of rebellious optimism. The words "Open to all,"which she kept repeating to herself, shone brightly in the shadow of her annoyance. Is it possible? Would she have an opportunity, however remote, to prove herself and break free from the strict rules of her pack's customs? She came to a sudden halt, her eyes focused on the image in the wall-mounted polished silver mirror.

The image that stared back was of a young woman, her long black hair flowing down her back like a velvet waterfall, her emerald eyes full of restless energy. It was the visage of Alpha Silas's daughter Victoria Nightshade, constrained by her family's expectations. Was it, however, the face of her fate? She felt a trembling that was a mix of excitement and fear. She would have to change who she was in order to get into Blackwood Academy. The dangers were enormous.

Her family and the pack as a whole would be ashamed if she were exposed. The alternative, however, a life of silent despair and unrealised promise seemed just as intolerable. She closed her eyes and imagined the opulent Blackwood halls, the fabled trials, and the opportunity to compete against the nation's most accomplished Alphas. She pictured the admiration, the acknowledgement, and the ability to control her own life. Her mother, standing tall and proud, her eyes full of a fresh spark, her voice ringing with the authority she had long repressed, was the image that flashed through her head.

She watched her brothers, their eyes full with a newfound appreciation, their haughtiness replaced by respect. She noticed her father's attitude, which had changed from one of contempt to one of reluctant pride. She felt a wave of resolve wash over her. This was about all the women in the Crescent Moon pack, about every spirit crushed under the burden of custom, and it wasn't just about her. She was determined not to be silenced.

She refused to let her own destiny become her mother's. With a determined look, she opened her eyes. As though a new identity was already starting to take shape, the reflection in the mirror appeared to shimmer and change. She would change, grow stronger, and earn the opportunity to take charge. She was going to be Victor Night. A point of no return was reached when the decision was taken. The potential profits were much bigger than the enormous hazards. She would set her own course, go against what her pack expected of her, and demonstrate that a woman could be just as powerful, capable, and deserving of leadership as any man.

There was an odd, almost ceremonial tension in the air in Vix's chamber. She moved as though she were performing an old ritual, her movements methodical and exact. The initial step was the most irrevocable and symbolic. The silky strands of her long black hair, which had served as a source of pride and identification, were collected and kept in her hand. It appeared as though the mirror's reflection was silently observing her change. She grabbed a small silver dagger from its sheath and cut off the thick braid with a swift, deliberate motion that reverberated throughout the still chamber. The black, tangled mess of chopped hair that fell to the ground represented the identity she was about to give up.

She fixed her gaze on the reflection, looking for any sign of remorse or uncertainty. But all she had was resolution, a fierce resolve that blazed inside her like a fire. She retrieved a length of thick cloth and proceeded to the chest at the foot of her bed. She flattened the contours that had marked her femininity by binding her chest with rehearsed movements. The pain she was experiencing served as a continual reminder of the lie she was about to commit and the sacrifice she was prepared to make. Instead of the silky silks she was used to wearing, she wore a pair of her brother's abandoned breeches, the hard cloth a sharp contrast. To hide what was left of her feminine figure, she put on a loose-fitting tunic. The last phase was the most difficult and revolutionary. Her gaze was fixed on the reflection, looking for any remnant of Victoria Nightshade.

The powerful jawline, high cheekbones, and emerald eyes with a hint of defiance were all familiar to her. The strong smell of dark dye filled the air as she grabbed for a little pot. She emphasised the prominent lines of her face by carefully darkening her eyebrows. She worked on her posture and movement, assuming a more confident swagger and a more manly posture. She practiced the new cadence and tested the new timbre by speaking in a low, rough voice. She said, "Victor Night,"the name reverberating around the room. "I am Victor Night."As the new identity developed, the image in the mirror appeared to change, to change.

Although the recognisable elements remained, they were now framed by a new energy and attitude. There was a fresh intensity in the eyes, a furious purpose emanating from inside. She was no longer Alpha Silas's daughter, Victoria Nightshade. She was Victor Night, a competitor, a fighter, a formidable opponent. The deceit was in place, the metamorphosis was complete. She was prepared to take on the trials that lay ahead, to sneak into Blackwood Academy and establish her value.

Victor Night was created in the chamber, which served as a training ground. As she rehearsed her new identity, Vix moved with a renewed sense of purpose, her movements methodical and accurate. With a more authoritative and male gait, she paced the entire length of the room, her footsteps resonating on the stone floor.

She worked on her voice, making it softer, gruffer, and more secure in its cadence. She tested the strange tone and the new rhythm by speaking in short, clipped words. "Yes, Alpha,"she snarled, imitating a warrior's respect. "I understand."She worked on her posture and stance, taking on a more aggressive look and stance. She exuded a sense of steadfast confidence as she stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, her shoulders straightened, and her chin held high.

She worked on her facial expressions and body language, assuming a more composed manner and a more restrained level of intensity. Her lips were set in a hard, unforgiving line as she gazed into the mirror, her eyes now icy and calculating. She devoted hours to perfecting every aspect, subtlety, and gesture of her new identity.

She observed the motions, facial expressions, and interactions of the male warriors in her pack to learn about their mannerisms. She took in their self-assurance, their haughtiness, and their unquestioning faith in their own superiority. She worked on her swordplay, her fighting stance, and her hand-to-hand fighting. Her motions were smooth and precise, her strikes quick and lethal, and she moved with a fresh ferocity and agility. She sparred with her brothers for hours on end on the training grounds, putting her abilities to the test against their power and ferocity. She moved with a newfound strength and confidence, her attacks now lethal, her motions now unexpected. She studied the old books in her father's library, discovering the tactics of shrewd commanders, the methods of renowned warriors, and the keys to effective leadership.

She took in their experience, knowledge, and wisdom. She was now a leader, a tactician, and a strategist in addition to being a fighter. She was Victor Night, a formidable opponent. There were mental, emotional, and spiritual changes in addition to the bodily ones. She had let go of her previous identity, constraints, and expectations. She had accepted a new identity, a new mission, and a new fate. She was prepared to take on the trials that lay ahead, to sneak into Blackwood Academy and establish her value. She would not be rejected because she was Victor Night.

The Use of The little wooden desk in the corner of her room had been transformed into a battlefield, a preparation ground for the last phase of her bold scheme. The official Blackwood Academy application form was in front of her; its clean parchment stood out sharply against the desk's worn surface. She had studied the form for hours, learning all the requirement, all the questions, and all the details by heart.

For Victor Night, she had meticulously developed a carefully made identity, a fabricated background, and a fictional backstory. In order to avoid suspicion and to conceal her true identity, she had decided on a name that was remote from her family. Her hand was now firm and confident, her movements precise and purposeful, and she had written in a bold, masculine font. She had maintained the appearance of Victor Night while providing the required information, answering the questions, and filling in the spaces.

She had even added a fake endorsement from a made-up mentor, a famous warrior, a skilled fighter. The last step was the riskiest and most nerve-racking. In order to make her deceit, she had to send the application to Blackwood Academy.