Silent Steps and Hidden Stars

The moon still clung to the western sky, pale and stubborn against the creeping dawn. Rona sat with her back pressed against the rough bark of an oak, knees drawn tight to her chest, watching her breath fog in the October chill. The clearing before her lay empty-would remain empty for another hour at least-but she'd learned long ago that arriving early meant avoiding questions she couldn't answer.

Questions like: *Why are you here?*

She pulled her threadbare shawl tighter, though it did little against the cold that had already seeped into her bones. The fabric was thin from too many washings, frayed at the edges where her grandmother's careful stitching had finally surrendered to time. Like everything else Rona owned, it had been passed down, worn out, made to last longer than it was ever meant to.

The forest around her stirred with morning sounds-the chitter of sparrows, the rustle of some small creature in the underbrush. She focused on these, let them fill the silence that always pressed too close when she was alone. Which was often. Which was always.

She wasn't supposed to think of it as loneliness. Loneliness implied she'd once had something to lose.

The first voices reached her before the first figures emerged from the tree line. Young wolves, her age or near enough, moving with the easy confidence of people who'd never questioned their place in the world. They laughed, shoved each other, their bodies loose and unguarded in ways Rona's never was.

She made herself smaller against the tree.

They didn't see her. They never did, not unless they wanted to.

More arrived as the sun climbed higher-seasoned warriors with scars mapping their forearms, younger wolves still gangly with growth, children barely old enough to hold a fighting stance. The clearing filled with bodies and noise, the sharp bark of commands, the dull thud of fists meeting flesh, the breathless laughter of exertion.

Rona watched from the shadows like a ghost haunting the edges of the living.

She told herself she came for the training. To learn by observation what she'd never be taught directly. To study the way they moved, the way they anticipated each other's strikes, the pack mentality that made them circle and feint as one organism.

But that was a lie she'd stopped believing weeks ago.

She came to watch *him*.

Veyron stood in the center of the clearing, and even among warriors twice his age, he was the one who commanded attention. Not through volume-his voice carried quiet and level across the space-but through presence. The kind that made people straighten their spines without realizing it, that made the air itself seem to sharpen around him.

He was nineteen. Tall in the way that promised he hadn't finished growing. His dark hair fell just past his shoulders, and when he turned to demonstrate a hold, the morning light caught the planes of his face-all hard angles and focused intensity.

Rona's chest did something stupid and painful.

She'd been watching him longer than she cared to admit. Long enough to notice how his jaw tightened when one of the younger wolves made the same mistake twice. Long enough to recognize the almost-smile he gave when someone finally got it right. Long enough to memorize the way he moved through space like he owned it, because in every way that mattered, he did.

He was the Alpha's son. Future leader. Born under the right moon, to the right bloodline, with the right everything.

And she was-

"Well, well."

Rona's head snapped up.

Kara stood three feet away, arms crossed, lips curved in something that might have passed for a smile if not for the coldness in her eyes. Beta blood, high rank, the kind of she-wolf who'd never been denied anything in her life.

"Rona." Her name sounded like an accusation. "Didn't expect to find you lurking around here. Again."

Rona's fingers dug into her palms. She kept her gaze lowered, fixed on a point somewhere near Kara's feet. "I was just-"

"Just what? Hoping someone would invite you to join?" Kara's laugh was soft, almost pitying. "That's sweet. Delusional, but sweet."

The words landed with practiced precision. Kara had been doing this long enough to know exactly where to aim.

Rona said nothing. Silence was safer. Silence meant Kara would get bored faster.

"You know what I don't understand?" Kara took a step closer, her voice dropping to something almost conversational. "How you can stand it. Coming here, day after day, watching everyone else live the life you'll never have." She paused, tilted her head. "Is it inspiring? Or just pathetic?"

Rona's throat tightened. She forced herself to breathe through her nose, slow and measured, the way her grandmother had taught her when the panic came.

*Don't react. Don't give them the satisfaction.*

"Nothing to say?" Kara's smile sharpened. "Smart girl. Anyway, I'm sure you have actual work to do. Somewhere far away from here." She waved a dismissive hand. "Run along now."

She didn't wait for a response-didn't need one. She'd already turned away, already moving back toward the training ground where people like her belonged.

Rona stayed frozen against the tree, her heartbeat too loud in her ears, her face hot with shame she hadn't earned but carried anyway.

When she finally looked up, her gaze found Veyron again without meaning to.

He was correcting a young wolf's stance, his hands firm but not rough as he adjusted the boy's shoulders. The child-couldn't be more than ten-looked up at him with open adoration, and Veyron's expression softened in a way that made Rona's chest ache.

He would be a good Alpha. Everyone knew it. Fair, strong, the kind of leader people followed because they wanted to, not because they had to.

A burst of laughter drew her attention. A group of young she-wolves had gathered near the weapons rack, their eyes tracking Veyron's movements with poorly disguised interest. One of them-blonde, beautiful, the Delta's daughter-said something that made the others giggle, their gazes flicking between each other and him like they were sharing a delicious secret.

Rona looked away.

She had no right to the jealousy that flared hot and bitter in her stomach. No claim to the fantasies she'd spun in the small hours of sleepless nights, where he looked at her the way he looked at worthy things. Where he saw her at all.

"Pathetic," she whispered to herself, borrowing Kara's word because it fit.

She should leave. Should go back to her grandmother's cabin and start the day's chores-hauling water, splitting kindling, the endless small tasks that filled the hours between waking and sleeping. Should stop torturing herself with proximity to a life she'd never touch.

But she didn't move.

Across the clearing, another voice rose-Darek, one of the younger Betas, his tone carrying that particular edge of amusement that made Rona's skin prickle.

"Hey, look who decided to grace us with her presence." He'd spotted her. Of course he had. She'd been too distracted, let herself get careless.

Several heads turned. Not many-she wasn't worth a crowd's attention-but enough.

Darek sauntered closer, his smile wide and empty. "Lost, Rona? The Omega dens are back that way." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

A girl beside him-young, eager to impress-added, "Maybe she thinks she can train with us. How cute."

The laughter that followed was casual, reflexive. Not cruel enough to draw reprimand, but sharp enough to cut.

Rona's face burned. She pushed herself upright, her legs stiff from sitting too long in the cold, and forced her spine straight even as everything in her wanted to curl inward.

"I was just leaving," she managed, her voice barely carrying.

"Good idea," Darek said, already losing interest, already turning back to more important things.

She walked-not ran, because running would be admitting something-back toward the tree line. Her vision blurred at the edges, but she blinked it clear. Tears were another luxury she couldn't afford.

At the forest's edge, she allowed herself one last glance.

Veyron stood surrounded by his students, the young wolves clustering around him like planets orbiting a sun. His head was tipped back slightly, laughing at something one of them said, and the sound carried across the clearing-rich and unguarded and so completely beyond her reach it might as well have existed in another world.

Which, she supposed, it did.

She turned away and disappeared into the trees, letting the shadows swallow her whole.

By the time she reached her grandmother's grave, her breathing had steadied. The small plot lay tucked in the pack's burial grounds, far enough from the prominent headstones that it was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. Wildflowers grew in patches around the simple marker-flowers Rona had planted and tended, because no one else would.

She knelt in the damp grass, her skirt soaking through immediately, and pressed her palm against the cool stone.

"Morning, Grandmother," she whispered.

The forest answered with wind and birdsong. It was enough. It had to be.

"I went to the training grounds again." The words came easier here, where no one was listening. "I know, I know. You'd tell me I'm wasting my time." She traced the worn letters of her grandmother's name with one finger. "But I can't seem to help it."

A branch snapped somewhere behind her, and Rona's shoulders tensed-but it was just a deer, picking its way through the underbrush. It paused when it saw her, ears swiveling forward, then decided she wasn't worth worrying about and moved on.

Even the deer could tell she wasn't a threat.

"They're right about me, aren't they?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "Kara, Darek, all of them. I don't belong there. I don't belong anywhere."

The stone offered no comfort, no wisdom. Just smooth, cold silence.

Rona closed her eyes and let herself imagine-just for a moment-what it would have been like to grow up different. To have a father who was pack, not human. To have a mother who didn't look at her with constant regret. To walk through the pack grounds with her head up, to train alongside the others, to hear her name spoken without disdain.

To have Veyron look at her and see someone worth knowing.

But when she opened her eyes, she was still kneeling in the damp grass, still alone, still exactly who she'd always been.

A half-breed. An Omega. A mistake that breathed.

She pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirt in a futile attempt at dignity.

The day's work waited. The pack wouldn't feed itself, wouldn't maintain the lodges and grounds through goodwill alone. And Rona's labor-unwanted as she was-at least had use.

It was more than she could say for the rest of her.

She took one last look at the training grounds in the distance, at the figures moving through their drills, at the life happening without her, and turned toward home.

The sun had finally burned away the morning mist, but Rona barely felt its warmth. Some cold went deeper than weather could touch.

She'd learned to live with it.

She had no other choice.

In the heart of the pack, Veyron was nothing short of a legend. Born under a full moon on the cusp of the autumnal equinox, he carried the weight of his heritage with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. At nineteen, he was already celebrated as the heir apparent, his strength and strategic mind making him not only respected but revered.

As the son of the Alpha, he bore the expectations of a legacy built on power and loyalty, and every day, he rose to meet those expectations with effortless poise.

The pack adored him, and in his presence, admiration came naturally. His tall, imposing figure commanded attention, and his intense, storm-gray eyes held a depth and intelligence that unsettled anyone who dared meet his gaze for too long. When he spoke, his voice carried an authority that brooked no argument, and the wolves around him instinctively deferred to his wisdom, even though his father still officially led them. Veyron was every bit the Alpha-to-be.

But as much as he was respected, Veyron was equally sought after. The pack's females watched him with thinly veiled longing, hopeful for a chance to catch his attention, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Veyron, however, was not easily swayed by flirtations or shallow advances. He had a clear image of what his Luna should be, and so far, only one female in the pack came close to fitting that vision.

That female was Helga.

Helga was as close to perfection as one could imagine. She was beautiful, with golden hair that fell in shimmering waves over her shoulders and a face that seemed sculpted by moonlight itself. Her delicate yet regal features and soft, doe-brown eyes sparkled with intelligence. She carried herself with quiet confidence, her every movement graceful and deliberate, as though she were already assuming the role of Luna in her heart.

Helga was his mother's choice and preference. She had even been introduced to Veyron by his mother as a potential mate and a suitable substitute in case he didn't find his fated one.

The pack elders approved of her as well. Helga was not only beautiful but also known for her kindness, competence, and dedication to the pack's well-being. She volunteered with the younger wolves, organized events, and was always present during training sessions, watching and learning alongside the warriors. To the pack, she embodied everything a Luna should be. To Veyron, she was more than suitable-a worthy partner who could stand by his side, sharing the responsibilities and expectations of the Luna role.

Today, as Veyron walked across the training grounds with his younger brother, he caught sight of Helga talking with some of the young Betas. She glanced over, meeting Veyron's gaze with a warm smile, and he felt a sense of pride settle in his chest.

"Thinking about Helga again?" his younger brother, Asher, teased, nudging him playfully. Asher was almost a mirror of Veyron, though where Veyron's gaze was intense, Asher's was softer, more inviting. Despite being an Alpha wolf as well, Asher was free of the weighty responsibilities Veyron bore, leaving him room to observe his older brother's life with humor.

"She has the makings of a great Luna," Veyron replied thoughtfully. "She's strong, respected... and the pack trusts her."

Asher chuckled, shaking his head. "Strong, beautiful, and accomplished. Just say you like her already."

Veyron smirked mildly but didn't rise to the playful bait. Asher was right, of course, in his own way. He did like Helga, but he also saw her through the lens of duty and pragmatism. She was a perfect match for him-not only because of her qualities but because she brought the dignity and loyalty the pack required. If he could choose anyone as his Luna, it would definitely be her.

As they continued their walk, Asher spotted his friend, Evanna, among the younger wolves finishing their training.

The Beta wolf, Evanna, was beautiful, fiercely loyal to her family and displayed a determined spirit that set her apart from others her age. She was sparring with one of the older boys. Seeing Asher, she waved at him with a grin, which he returned with equal enthusiasm. Watching her reminded him of his own training days, and a touch of pride flared in his heart.

But before he could dwell on it, his gaze shifted, catching an unexpected sight-Rona, the pack runt, lingering near the edge of the grounds. She watched the others with a wistful expression, staying at a distance. Her presence drew a few disdainful glances, and some young wolves began whispering, casting judgemental looks in her direction.

Asher looked away, he found it a bit sad the way their pack treated her. Rona who was born an outcast, faced disdain for circumstances beyond her control. The pack was supposed to function in peace and unity treating a member as worse than scum for no justifiable reason was just inexcusable. However, despite the opposition and bullying, Rona tried her best to participate in pack activities, working harder than anyone to prove her worth, even when her presence was vilified.

Veyron's view of her was even worse. To him, she served no meaningful purpose within the pack's structure. An Omega and a half-breed, she was the product of a scandal that still lingered like a stain on the pack's reputation. To Veyron, she was a non-entity-irrelevant to his life and responsibilities. He spared her no thought, focusing instead on far more pressing matters.

As they reached the edge of the clearing, Helga approached, her smile as bright as morning light. "Veyron," she greeted warmly, her voice soft but firm, radiating calm assurance. "I was just talking with the younger wolves about their training. They did well, but a few of them need to work on their balance."

Veyron nodded, impressed as always by her insight. "I'm sure they'll benefit from your guidance, Helga. You have a natural touch with them."

Asher grinned, glancing between them with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I'll leave you two to... discuss pack matters. I'll go help Evanna finish her sparring."

With that, he slipped away, leaving Veyron and Helga alone. For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, the weight of unspoken words filling the air.

The Mating Ceremony would soon take place. Helga, whom he was courting on the side, had been asking him to make their relationship official, but Veyron was waiting for the ceremony. That night, he would find his fated mate-the one the Moon Goddess had made just for him.

He hoped it was Helga. He believed, to some degree, that it would be her. Yet, a small inkling of doubt held him back. For some reason, he hesitated, insistent on waiting until after the ceremony.

Regardless, his Luna would be someone worthy of the pack's respect and admiration. Anything less was unthinkable.

The dawn broke over the mountains, casting a golden hue across the pack's territory as the forest awoke with quiet murmurs and the soft sounds of rustling leaves. For most wolves, this morning marked the beginning of another day filled with purpose, training, camaraderie, and the company of those who accepted them.

For Rona however, dawn only signaled another day of solitude, another chapter in her life that would be painted with the dull, familiar shades of isolation.

Rona lingered at the edge of the training grounds, careful to remain hidden in the shadow of the thick pines. A few early risers were already stretching, preparing for a session with the pack warriors who would lead them through drills and strategies. She watched with a mixture of longing and envy as they laughed and joked, the bonds of friendship between them as visible as the morning mist. Though she was close enough to hear their voices, it was as if an invisible wall kept her out-she could watch, but she could never step into their world.

As the group grew, so did the chatter, some voices rising with teasing challenges, others offering words of encouragement.

Rona's gaze lingered on a small group of Omega wolves near the edge of the field, their laughter and relaxed manner reminding her painfully of what she was missing. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to be included in such easy banter, to be someone they greeted by name with warmth in their voices.

But she didn't have to wonder for long. Just as she felt herself leaning a fraction closer, one of the wolves glanced her way, his expression instantly darkening. A snide smirk tugged at his mouth as he nudged the Omega beside him, who looked over at her with equal disdain.

"Look who's watching from the shadows," the first wolf murmured, loud enough for her to hear. "Rona, the half-breed lurker."

The group snickered, their mocking laughter hanging in the air like smoke.

Rona clenched her fists, feeling the burn of shame rise in her cheeks. She had been foolish to hope they wouldn't notice her, foolish to think that her mere presence wouldn't provoke ridicule.

She didn't know why she feels hurt everytime this happens. She's had years of experience that should've conditioned her to get used to this treatment, but despite it all, it still hurt a lot, and yet, it still never stops her from trying again another time.

Just what did she even hope to achieve in the first place?

Without a word, she turned away, quickening her pace as she walked down the familiar path to escape their jeers.

She took a deep breath as she distanced herself from the training grounds, focusing on the soft crunch of leaves beneath her feet.

She didn't need them, she reminded herself.

She had lived most of her life without their approval or company, and she would continue to do so. But the hollowness that settled in her chest said otherwise, the faint ache of loneliness pressing against her heart.

The path led her toward the far edge of the territory, where the quiet was her only companion, and she could almost imagine herself as part of the forest, blending into the gentle sway of trees and whisper of wind.

This was where she belonged, she told herself, away from the others, in the shadows where she could observe without being seen.

Her daily chores awaited her in the heart of the camp, but first, she allowed herself a brief detour-to the small, overgrown meadow at the edge of the forest where her grandmother's grave lay beneath an old oak tree within the confines of the land dedicated as the packs burial ground but far away enough from most graves to prevent her presence from upsetting some.

The grave was modest, a simple stone marker worn by years and softened by patches of wildflowers that Rona herself had planted each spring. It was here, in this quiet, sacred space, that she felt a semblance of peace.

She knelt beside the gravestone, brushing her fingers over the smooth surface as she whispered, "Good morning, Grandmother."

Her grandmother had been the only one who ever truly saw her, the only one who looked at her with kindness instead of judgment. She had been the one constant in Rona's life, a gentle presence who had soothed her wounds, both visible and hidden. But her grandmother was gone now, and Rona was left with only memories, fragments of comfort that barely kept the loneliness at bay.

"I... I don't know what to do anymore," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Sometimes, I think maybe if I work hard enough, if I try to be good enough, they'll... they'll see me differently. But I don't think that's possible, Grandmother. Not for someone like me."

A soft breeze stirred the leaves, rustling them gently, as if offering her silent reassurance. Rona closed her eyes, feeling the familiar sting of tears. She hated how often she ended up here, at this gravestone, seeking comfort from someone who could no longer speak. It made her feel weak, as if she were still that frightened child clinging to her grandmother's hand, hoping for love in a world that refused to give it.

With a sigh, she rose, brushing the dirt from her knees and casting one last, lingering glance at the gravestone. "I'll come back later, or tomorrow," she promised softly before turning away.

**

Back in the heart of the camp, her day resumed its usual rhythm of chores, though even this came with its own share of challenges.

She was responsible for mundane tasks-cleaning the main lodge, gathering herbs, preparing food for the hunters. It was menial work, work that the other Omegas took for granted, but to Rona, it was a small reprieve from the constant whispers and judgmental stares.

But even as she worked, she couldn't fully escape her status. The cook, a sharp-tongued older shewolf named Marla, eyed her with barely concealed disdain as she handed Rona a basket of vegetables to wash.

"Make sure you don't bruise them," Marla warned, her tone clipped. "Last time, you wasted half the basket."

Rona nodded, accepting the basket without protest, though she could feel the familiar sting of unfairness settle over her. She had done her best, worked as carefully as she could, but Marla always found something to criticize. She suspected it wasn't about her work-it was simply another reminder of her place.

As Rona scrubbed the dirt from the carrots under the cold stream of water, her ears perked up at the lively chatter of a group of younger wolves nearby. Their voices, high-pitched and brimming with energy, carried over to her with ease. She paused, her hands momentarily still as she focused on the conversation.

"Did you hear? Veyron is training with the Alpha warriors tomorrow!" one girl exclaimed, practically bouncing on her toes.

"No way!" another chimed in, her voice full of longing. "He's so incredible to watch. The way he moves? It's like he's dancing and fighting at the same time."

"He's not just fighting, though," a boy added, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. "He's teaching. Last time, he corrected my stance, and I swear I felt like I was standing taller all week."

The first girl giggled. "I wish I could join tomorrow. Just imagine-being up close while Veyron trains. Maybe he'll notice me and-"

"Yeah, right." The boy snorted. "He'd probably notice your poor excuse of a punch first."

"Shut up!" she shot back, smacking him playfully. "At least I'm brave enough to throw a punch."

Their laughter rang out, teasing yet warm, and Rona's chest tightened as she lowered the carrots into the basin. A wistful smile tugged at her lips, even as a faint ache crept into her heart.

Veyron.

His name alone stirred something complicated within her-a mix of admiration, envy, and something softer she still couldn't quite name. He was one of the wolves she had always watched from the shadows whenever she could, the Alpha's son who carried himself like he was born to lead. It wasn't just his strength that captivated her but the way he moved with purpose, the ease with which he commanded respect. Even the way the others spoke of him now made her heart squeeze.

She remembered the way he had looked at her once-his expression blank, his eyes distant, as if she were invisible. To him, she was less than nothing, an insignificant speck in the grand tapestry of his life.

She bit her lip, fighting the wave of longing that surged through her. She wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged-not necessarily by him, but to just be part of something bigger than herself.

However, she knew better than to hope for a world where someone like Veyron would even spare her a passing thought. She could only dream of it.

The hours dragged on, each task a monotonous routine that barely kept her mind occupied. She scrubbed, gathered, and sorted, each motion automatic, as if she were a ghost moving through the camp. Occasionally, she caught snippets of laughter or conversation from others, but those sounds only served as painful reminders of the life she could never have.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Rona finished her final task, her hands sore and her body aching. She cast a quick glance around the camp, noticing the clusters of wolves gathered in small groups, talking and laughing as they prepared for the evening meal. No one spared her a second glance, not to mention inviting her to join them.

With a weary sigh, she made her way back to the quiet meadow where her grandmother's grave lay, needing the solace of that familiar place more than ever. As she knelt beside the gravestone once more, she allowed herself to sink into the silence, the weight of her loneliness pressing down on her like an invisible shroud.

"I wish... I wish things were different," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the evening air. "I wish I could be someone they cared about. Somebody someone could... love."

Her words faded into the quiet, the only response the rustling of leaves in the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness of the forest wrap around her like a comforting blanket, as if the trees and earth themselves understood her pain.

But as she sat there, alone in the growing shadows, a small, fragile hope flickered within her-a hope that one day, somehow, things might change. That one day, she might find a place where she truly belonged.

Until then, she would endure. She would survive, even if she had to do it alone.