Omens Over Mooncall,The Alpha Heir They Tried to RuinChapter 1
The moment I inscribed my name into the registry for the National Moon-Ink Rite Trial, strange text began scrolling across my vision:
[Here it comes! The idealized love ex-intended returns from the distant territories, steals the Alpha Heir's ritual sigils, gets exposed and humiliated, reputation destroyed!]
[Sure, the Beta Matron and her ex-intended were childhood packmates, but they haven't crossed paths in seven or eight cycles. No way that competes with a pair who's been running together day and night!]
[Idealized love? Please. Kael Nightforge is just a rejected villain. Stop hyping him up.]
A young male approached me—dressed in the same humble style I used to favor during my training years.
"Greetings. I'm Darian Ashfen from the neighboring pack's delegation. I've heard you're an incredible rune-scribe. Always wanted to meet you. Never expected we'd cross paths at the same rite trial."
I gave him a cool nod, catching something sharp beneath his mild scent.
After the Council Adjudicators announced the results, Darian grabbed my arm, his eyes rimmed red with what looked like genuine distress.
"You switched our ritual sigils, didn't you? Using such dirty tricks to claim victory—doesn't that eat at your wolf-heart?"
Selene Crownhollow, one of the Council Adjudicators, appeared beside him. Her brow furrowed so deeply you could've crushed a fly between her eyebrows.
"Go to the Elder Council and withdraw yourself. You have no right to advance to the final rite!"
Contemptuous stares bore into me from all directions, the scent of their disdain thick in the air. I turned and pointed at the worst piece of moon-ink work hanging on the ceremonial wall.
"Win what, exactly? I came in dead last. I couldn't advance if I wanted to."
The omen-feed went wild: [Wait wait wait—what in the moon's name is happening?!]
——
Darian's jaw dropped. "Aren't you supposed to be some kind of rune-scribing prodigy? There's no way that chicken scratch is yours!"
Selene—who had pretended not to recognize my scent during registration—suddenly seized my wrist with surprising strength.
"Kael Nightforge! You've been studying territorial arts since you were a pup. You spent seven or eight cycles training in the distant mountain holds. How could you possibly be last?!"
I was momentarily speechless.
If she recognized me, then she should know.