The village buzzed with quiet tension the next morning.
Calla could feel it in the way the warriors moved through the streets—more alert, more serious. She noticed it in the way the elders gathered around the stone fire pit, whispering behind their cloaks. Something was stirring in the air, like a storm that hadn't yet shown its face.
But Calla, like every other omega, kept her eyes low and her voice quieter.
She stepped out of her small wooden home, adjusting the brown cloak around her shoulders. The weather had turned cooler overnight, clouds hanging heavy above the trees that surrounded their pack's territory.
Her house, like many others belonging to lower-ranked members, sat near the edge of the village. It had just two rooms: a kitchen that doubled as a sitting space, and a bedroom barely big enough for a bed and small cabinet. The walls were built from forest timber, the roof patched from the last storm.
In contrast, she could see the Alpha's mansion in the distance—a towering house of stone and dark wood. It wasn't on a hill, but it stood at the heart of the pack lands, visible from almost every direction. It was elegant but strong, with sharp lines and wide balconies that overlooked the rest of the village. Darien Kaelstrom could see everything from up there.
Calla had never been inside.
She wasn't even allowed near the gates.
But today, as she gathered herbs near the eastern trail for the healers, she heard voices drifting from the direction of the mansion—low, commanding ones.
Alpha Darien was returning from the outer border. He had been away for several days with his top warriors, dealing with reports of rogues along the western ridge.
Rogues. Wolves who lived without packs. Dangerous, unpredictable, often wild from years of isolation. Even omegas feared them.
Calla didn't plan to linger and watch, but something stopped her—a tug in her chest, light and quick, like a breath caught too soon. Her wolf stirred in the back of her mind.
Do you feel that? the voice said.
Calla blinked. "Feel what?"
But her wolf didn't answer. It had gone still again, the way it often did when something deep stirred. Her fingers curled around the handle of her basket as she stepped behind a tree, hidden by thick branches.
From where she stood, she could see the gate to the Alpha's mansion swing open.
Alpha Darien walked through it.
Calla had seen him before—from a distance, during gatherings or patrol announcements—but something about him now made the air feel heavier. He wore a dark leather jacket over a black shirt, his short hair tousled from wind, his jaw lined with a hint of stubble. He didn't smile, didn't speak more than necessary. He was talking to his Beta, Kael, a tall and lean man with a scar running from his cheek to his collarbone.
Darien's eyes scanned the village as he walked. Sharp, focused. Cold.
Then, for one strange second, they paused—facing the woods.
Calla didn't move. She didn't breathe.
It was impossible he could see her through the trees… wasn't it?
Her heartbeat picked up.
Darien's wolf growled faintly in his mind, restless.
Something's here.
But he shook it off. He was tired. The rogue trail had gone cold. His head was full of reports and schedules. He didn't have time for shadows.
He turned away.
Calla stayed frozen a moment longer, then slowly backed away from the clearing.
---
Later, while washing herbs at the stream, Mika found her.
"You've been quiet all day," Mika said, sitting beside her. "Again."
Calla shrugged. "Just thinking."
"About the Alpha?" Mika asked, smirking slightly.
Calla shot her a look. "No."
"Well, someone's caught your attention. You've looked like a startled deer since morning."
Calla gave a tired sigh. "It's just... I saw something. Or felt something. I don't know."
Mika's brow furrowed. "You've been feeling weird things more often lately."
Calla hesitated, then nodded. "My wolf… it's been whispering again. More than before. And I keep having dreams."
Mika's voice dropped. "Dreams about what?"
Calla stared into the water. "A flame in the dark. A voice I can't understand. A... pull, like I'm being called."
She left out the part about the ring glowing faintly the night before.
Mika reached out and touched her hand. "Do you think it's... your power?"
Calla flinched.
They never talked about that. Not directly.
No one really knew what Calla's power was—not even her. All she had were the stories Maera had told her. That during Calla's childhood fever, something had awoken. Her eyes had glowed silver. The windows in the house had cracked. Her heartbeat had echoed like thunder. And then... it had all gone quiet.
No one had seen it again since.
But the ring never left her finger.
And now, for the first time in years, something inside her felt like it was shifting.
Growing.
Waiting.
---
That night, in his mansion, Darien stood by the window of his study. The lights in the village flickered in the distance. The moon was almost full, casting silver light across the rooftops.
His wolf paced again.
Something's near. I feel her.
Darien rubbed the back of his neck. "There's no one."
She's close, the wolf insisted. But not ready.
Darien frowned. He wasn't sure what the wolf meant, and he didn't care for riddles.
But far away, in a small room lit only by candlelight, Calla sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the ring on her finger as it glowed faintly once more.
The bond was there.
Sleeping.
Waiting for the storm to come.