The First Trial
The pack gathered under the fading light of dusk, their anticipation palpable as Isla stepped into the circle at the center of the courtyard. The torches surrounding the area cast her silver hair in a luminous glow, and the calm authority in her stance demanded their attention.
Draven stood near the edge, his amber eyes following her every move. “Try to leave some suspense for the rest of us, will you?” he murmured under his breath.
Isla shot him a quick glance over her shoulder, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You mean, make it look like this is hard? I’ll see what I can do.”
The first trial was simple in premise but critical in meaning: the Luna must command the pack’s loyalty through the bond, summoning them to shift as one. Isla lifted her chin, her voice ringing out clear and steady.
“Shift,” she commanded.
It wasn’t shouted, nor did it need to be. Her voice carried the kind of power that was felt rather than heard. One by one, the wolves responded, their forms shimmering as they shifted, lowering their heads in reverence. Isla met each gaze with quiet confidence, their connection undeniable.
At the edge of the circle, Draven folded his arms, his lips quirking into a faint grin. “Show-off,” he muttered, though pride colored his tone.
When Isla stepped back, the attention shifted to Seraphine. She moved into the circle with deliberate steps, the crescent mark on her cheek glowing faintly. Her expression was smug as she barked her command.
“Shift.”
Nothing happened.
The pack stilled, their bodies tense with uncertainty. A few wolves growled low in confusion, and others glanced toward Isla as if seeking her reassurance. Seraphine’s confident smile faltered.
“You dare disobey me?” she snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. Her crescent mark flared with shadowy light, but it only seemed to deepen the unease among the wolves.
From the edge of the circle, Draven leaned toward Susan, his voice low. “This is going great for her, don’t you think?”
Susan barely hid a smirk. “Almost too great. She might have to work harder to lose this badly.”
Seraphine’s eyes flicked toward them, her lips tightening. Her expression remained composed, but the faint tremor in her hand betrayed her frustration.
As Isla returned to stand beside Draven, she whispered, “Are you going to gloat now or save it for later?”
“I’m pacing myself,” Draven replied, a glint of humor in his eyes.
Seraphine lingered in the circle, her hand brushing against her crescent mark as she muttered something under her breath. Isla felt the ripple of magic before she saw its effect—a low growl broke the silence as one of the wolves began to tremble, its hackles rising unnaturally.
Isla’s gaze sharpened. The wolf’s growl turned into a snarl, and then it lunged directly at her.
