Chapter 3 — Pine Hill Academy

Aziel

The hollow thud of footsteps echoed through the halls of Pine Hill Academy, layered with whispers and rustling paper that scraped against Aziel’s heightened senses. Each sound seemed amplified, sharp and invasive, as though the building itself were testing him. The air carried the faint musk of Werewolves—earthy and primal, coiling around him like an unseen threat. For a fleeting moment, the instinct to run flared at the back of his mind, but he forced it down, channeling the discipline Lydia had instilled in him. His feet moved forward, deliberate and measured, though his chest felt tight with tension.

The academy was a strange blend of grandeur and decay. Stone walls lined with intricate carvings of wolves and moon phases spoke of ancient traditions, yet ivy crept stubbornly along cracking facades. A faint unease hung in the air, as though the weight of history itself pressed down on the halls, suffocating and cold. Aziel adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, his fingers brushing the edge of the Silvermoon Pendant beneath his shirt. The faint warmth that emanated from the pendant steadied him, grounding his thoughts.

That morning, Lydia had fussed over him with a rare tenderness that made Aziel’s chest ache more than he cared to admit. As she adjusted his jacket with careful hands, she’d said, “Pine Hill is a place of power for them. You’ll feel it. But power isn’t invincibility. It’s always vulnerable where it’s most concentrated.” Her eyes had lingered on him, sharp and full of meaning. “You trust the Moon, don’t you? Trust it to guide you today.”

Her words echoed now, grounding him as threads of doubt threatened to pull him apart. But the weight of the academy—and the stares that followed him—was unrelenting. He pulled his hood lower over his dark hair and kept his gaze forward, his silver eyes hidden in shadow. Still, the murmurs reached him, furtive but deliberate.

“Who’s that?” a voice whispered nearby, audible even above the low hum of conversation.

“New kid,” someone answered, their tone tinged with suspicion. “Smells... strange. Like something’s off.”

A low chuckle followed, sharp and taunting. “Maybe he’s one of those Spirit freaks.”

Aziel’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking, resisting the urge to glance at the group of students clustered by the lockers. Their laughter died as he passed, leaving only silence and the faint scrape of claws against metal. He could feel their gazes on him, sharp and probing, as though they were trying to unravel the mystery of what he was. But he couldn’t afford to react—not here, not now. Instead, he focused on the rhythm of his steps and the steady thrum of the pendant’s warmth against his chest.

The classroom provided a brief reprieve, its relative quiet offering a momentary sanctuary. Rows of desks stretched toward tall, narrow windows streaked with pale light, dust motes swirling lazily in the beams. Aziel slipped into the seat at the back, his movements deliberate as he positioned himself where he could observe while remaining inconspicuous. His fingers traced the edge of the desk, grounding himself in the cool, worn wood.

Students trickled in, their voices a low murmur that ebbed and flowed with the ease of routine. Aziel kept his gaze down, acutely aware of every movement and sound. Each laugh, each shuffle of feet, each scrape of a chair against the floor—it all pressed against him, sharp and invasive. He tried to focus on his breathing, letting it guide him through the noise.

And then, the air shifted.

It wasn’t just a sound or a scent; it was a presence—a weight that rippled outward, brushing against his senses like a tide. Aziel’s head lifted instinctively, his silver eyes darting toward the door just as it opened.

“Braden!” someone called out, the name threaded with deference and camaraderie.

The boy who entered moved with unhurried confidence, broad-shouldered and self-assured. His dark brown eyes, faintly flecked with amber, swept across the room, and for a moment, they locked onto Aziel. Time seemed to still. The space between them grew taut, the air charged with something Aziel couldn’t name. His fingers tightened on the desk, his pulse quickening as Braden’s gaze lingered. There was something in it—not hostility, but curiosity. Recognition, perhaps. Or something deeper.

Just as abruptly as it began, the moment broke. Braden turned, moving to take a seat near the front of the room, his back to Aziel. But the tension remained, humming in Aziel’s veins like an unspoken warning—or a promise. He exhaled slowly, his grip on the desk loosening, though his heart continued its erratic rhythm. Beneath his shirt, the Silvermoon Pendant grew warmer.

The lesson began, but Aziel barely registered the teacher’s voice. His thoughts churned, circling around the brief but charged interaction. Braden’s presence had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully articulate, drawing equal parts wariness and something uncomfortably close to fascination. It felt dangerous, like standing too close to the edge of a cliff.

The day’s true challenge, however, came during gym class.

The gymnasium was vast, its vaulted ceiling lined with beams that groaned faintly under the weight of age. The sharp scent of sweat mingled with the polished wood of the floors, the echoes of footsteps and shouted instructions bouncing off the walls. Aziel lingered near the edge of the group, his hood still pulled low despite the heat, his sharp senses scanning the space for danger.

“All right, pair up!” barked the coach, his tone carrying easily over the din.

Aziel froze, his gaze darting across the room. Students moved instinctively, clustering into pairs with the ease of familiarity. He stood alone, the weight of the stares pressing down on him once more. His pulse quickened, fear curling in his chest like smoke.

“Looks like you’re with me,” a low, calm voice said, cutting through the haze of noise.

Aziel turned slowly, his silver eyes meeting Braden’s amber-tinged gaze. The Alpha stood before him, hands on his hips, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. There was no malice in his expression, but his presence was overwhelming, magnetic in a way that made Aziel’s stomach turn.

“No one else left,” Braden added, his tone easy but firm. He gestured toward the sparring mats. “Come on.”

Aziel hesitated, his instincts screaming against the idea of stepping into such close proximity to the Alpha. But the weight of Braden’s steady gaze left him little choice. With a reluctant nod, he followed, each step toward the mats feeling heavier than the last.

The coach outlined the drill—basic sparring—but Aziel barely heard him. His focus was entirely on Braden, whose stance was relaxed yet ready, his movements fluid and assured. Braden looked at him, his expression unreadable but intent.

“You ready?” Braden asked, his voice carrying a teasing edge.

Aziel nodded stiffly, his limbs tense as he mirrored Braden’s stance. The room seemed to blur around them, the noise fading into the background as they faced each other. Braden moved first—a calculated step forward, testing Aziel’s reflexes. Aziel reacted instinctively, sidestepping with a sharp precision that surprised even himself.

They circled each other, their movements cautious at first, then quicker, more fluid. Braden’s strikes were controlled, probing, each one forcing Aziel to adjust and adapt. To his own astonishment, Aziel held his ground, his instincts guiding him with a grace and agility he hadn’t realized he possessed. His silver eyes remained locked on Braden, reading the subtle shifts in his posture, the faint cues that hinted at his next move.

For a fleeting moment, it felt almost natural.

Then Braden moved faster, his hand grazing Aziel’s shoulder before he twisted away. The contact sent a jolt through Aziel, his skin prickling where Braden had touched him. Beneath his shirt, the Silvermoon Pendant pulsed with warmth, its glow faint.

Braden stepped back, his expression thoughtful. His gaze lingered on Aziel, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them—a recognition, perhaps, or an acknowledgment. “You’re quick,” he said, his tone low and even. There was no mockery in his words, only quiet observation.

Aziel said nothing, his breathing shallow as he fought to steady himself. The tension between them was palpable, a thread stretched taut, vibrating with every shared glance and unspoken word. Beneath the surface, something shifted, but Aziel wasn’t ready to name it.

The session ended shortly after, but the weight of the encounter lingered. As Aziel gathered his things, he felt Braden’s gaze on him again, steady and unyielding. He didn’t look back.

When he stepped out of the gym, the Silvermoon Pendant pressed warm against his chest, a fragile reassurance against the storm of emotions swirling within him. The city’s chaos loomed beyond the academy walls, but for the first time, something else stirred—a flicker of possibility, sharp and unnerving.

And it terrified him.