Aria Silvan of the Fallen Line.
Aria’s POV
Rain. It had been falling non-stop for two days, tapping against the warped windowpanes like a cruel lullaby. The only constant in the silence that choked this cottage, this place I was forced to call home. Every drop seemed to echo the cold that had settled deep into my bones. It was as if the sky itself was grieving—mourning in a way the people who raised me never did.
Curled up in the corner of my small, freezing room, I held onto the only thing that still felt like love: my mother’s pendant. A silver moon etched with delicate swirls, icy against my skin. She’d placed it in my hand the night she died, her voice barely a whisper. “Never take it off, Aria. It will protect you.”
Sweet, naïve Mama. She didn’t know the real monsters weren’t in the woods or the shadows—but right here, inside this rotting house.
“Aria!”
Aunt Marella’s voice sliced through the silence like a blade. My stomach twisted. Even hearing my name from her lips made me feel tainted—like something dirty and unwanted. I didn’t respond. I curled tighter into myself, hoping, foolishly, that if I stayed quiet long enough, she’d go away.
I should’ve known better by now. Hope was dangerous.
The door flew open with a crash, slamming into the wall and making the whole room shake. The picture frame above my bed wobbled, threatening to fall—the one with the faded photo of my parents smiling before everything turned to ash.
Marella filled the doorway, a vision of cruelty in her garish silk robe. Her lipstick was blood-red, smeared like war paint, and her eyes glittered with twisted amusement.
“There you are, you little freak.” Her voice dripped venom as she tossed a rolled parchment onto the floor. “Your invitation’s here.”
Invitation. What a joke. This wasn’t a gift—it was a sentence. A command hidden behind elegant script and a blood-red seal.
I slowly uncurled, my joints stiff and aching. My eyes landed on the parchment, and I froze. That seal—crimson wax stamped with the insignia of the Shifter Council—I didn’t need to read it. I already knew.
Bloodrose Academy.
I whispered the word like a curse. “No… this can’t be happening.”
Behind Marella, my uncle Brann appeared, reeking of beer and bitterness. “You should be grateful,” he grunted. “You’re finally someone else’s problem.”
“I never asked for this!” The words burst from me, hoarse and cracked with fear. “You can’t just send me away—”
The slap hit me before I even saw it coming. Brann’s hand cracked against my cheek, and I hit the ground hard. My vision blurred, the pain hot and blooming. My mouth filled with blood. I stayed there, stunned, humiliated, broken.
“You’re a burden,” he said coldly. “A reminder of their stupidity.”
I wanted to scream, to fight, to make them feel even a piece of what I carried inside. But I stayed still, tasting blood and dust, trying not to cry.
Marella watched me like I was some pathetic creature beneath her. “You were always a mistake, Aria. A silent wolf, born late, cursed. The Council doesn’t want you—they want to study you. Tear you apart, for all I care. You leave at dawn.”
Then they left. The door slammed shut behind them, echoing through the hollow house.
I stayed on the floor for what felt like hours, listening to the wind howl outside, the rain still falling. My heartbeat was loud in my ears, my breath shaky.
Eventually, I reached for the parchment with trembling fingers. The script blurred through my tears, but one line burned itself into my memory:
Subject: Aria Silvan of the Fallen Line.
The Fallen Line.
That’s what they called my family now. My parents—once honored among the shifters—reduced to a tragedy. A mystery. A scandal. They died in a fire no one could explain. And I lived. The survivor. The cursed child.
They blamed me. Maybe they were right.
And now I was being sent to a place I had no chance of surviving. Bloodrose Academy wasn’t a school—it was a trap. A battlefield hidden behind ivy-covered walls, run by the powerful and cruel.
Worse than the Council were the whispers. The stories of the Blackthorn quadruplets—four alphas, born under a rare moon, feared and worshipped alike. Beautiful, brutal, untouchable. They ruled Bloodrose, and they hated weakness.
And me? I was the weakest of all. A girl with a broken past and a silent wolf. Easy prey.
I touched the pendant around my neck, its silver cool against my skin. My mother said it would protect me.
But it hadn’t saved her.
How could it save me now?
The rain didn’t stop.
By nightfall, the storm outside had turned wild — wind howling like a beast denied entry, the trees groaning beneath the weight of the storm. My room, already cold and bare, felt more like a cell now. Shadows stretched long across the peeling walls, and I lay curled up on the hard mattress, wide-eyed and sleepless.
I couldn’t stop shaking. Not from the cold. From everything.
Bloodrose.
The Fallen Line.
The look in Brann’s eyes when he hit me — not anger. Indifference.
I turned the pendant over in my palm, over and over, until my fingers ached. That silver moon, with its delicate swirls and faint warmth, was all I had left of her.
My mother.
Her laugh used to sound like wind chimes on a summer day — soft, melodic, full of life. She’d tuck wildflowers into my braids and sing lullabies in a language only she and I seemed to understand. Her eyes held entire stories, her touch... I swear it could quiet storms.
The night she died came rushing back to me like a flood I couldn't stop.
Flames.
Screams.
My mother’s voice, whispering in my ear as the world burned: “Never take it off, Aria. It will protect you.”
I didn’t remember how I got out. Only that when I woke up, she was gone — and everything good went with her.
A floorboard creaked, pulling me from the memory. I flinched, instinctively clutching the pendant tighter. But then I heard it — the soft, careful footsteps I’d known for years.
Elira.
The only person in this cursed house who had ever looked at me without disgust.
“Aria,” she whispered, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She carried a small tray of food — nothing grand, just some bread, stew, and warm milk — but the sight of it made my throat tighten.
“You haven’t eaten all day,” she said gently, kneeling beside my bed. Her dark eyes scanned my face, and I knew she saw the swelling on my cheek, the bruises I hadn’t even looked at yet. “Oh, sweetheart…”
“I’m fine,” I lied, the words barely leaving my cracked lips.
“You don’t have to be,” she said quietly. She reached up, brushing my tangled hair from my face with such tenderness it made the tears I’d been holding back spill free.
I didn’t want to cry. I hated crying in front of people. But Elira… she wasn’t like them. She never had been.
When I was little, she’d sneak me extra pieces of fruit or whisper stories of faraway lands while brushing my hair. When Marella screamed, Elira would find me afterward and hold me until I stopped shaking. She didn’t have to do any of it. But she did. And tonight, when I felt more alone than I ever had… she came.
I sat up slowly, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. She helped me, slipping a cushion behind my back before breaking off a piece of bread and holding it to my lips.
“I can feed myself,” I murmured, embarrassed.
“Let me, just for tonight,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
So I let her.
She fed me like I was her child — careful, patient, as if each bite mattered more than the last. She wiped the corner of my mouth when I dribbled, scolded me gently when I turned away.
“Don’t go to that place hungry. You’ll need all your strength.”
“I don’t want to go at all.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I would stop it if I could.”
I stared at her, my eyes searching her face. “Do you think... do you think they were right? That I’m cursed?”
Her hand froze halfway to the bowl. She set it down carefully, then cupped my bruised cheek with such care it made my breath catch.
“No,” she said firmly, her voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “You are not cursed, Aria. You are surviving. And that… that takes more strength than anyone in this house will ever understand.”
The tears came harder this time. Silent and relentless. She pulled me into her arms, rocking me slowly like I was small again. I clung to her, my fists gripping the fabric of her worn dress, and for the first time in what felt like forever… I let myself be held.
The storm raged on outside, but in that small, forgotten room, Elira became my anchor.
She stayed with me until the moon disappeared behind heavy clouds and the cold light of dawn began to creep through the window. She pressed a kiss to my forehead and whispered, “No matter what they say, you are not alone.”
And then she left.
And I was alone again. But this time, I carried her warmth with me.
Because maybe the pendant around my neck wasn’t the only thing protecting me after all.