The Prophecy's Reject

Zylia's POV

By the third night, my arms refused to lift the blade.

Raven didn't care.

"Pain means progress," she said, circling me like a hawk. "Or death. Guess we'll see which one wins."

My arms trembled, muscles screaming from nights without rest. Every movement sent sparks of pain up my shoulders, but Raven only watched, eyes sharp, waiting for me to break.

The handle slipped from my fingers again, clattering against the stone. "I can't,"

"You can." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Pick it up."

I did. Because she scared me more than my own exhaustion.

Sweat slicked my neck, my palms raw from the wooden grip. The moonlight carved her face into angles , sharp, severe, unyielding. I swung again. Missed again.

She shoved me hard enough that I stumbled back into the dirt. "Stop fighting the ground and fight me, pup."

"I'm trying!"

"No. You're surviving. There's a difference."

She lunged, blade flashing. I dodged barely, breath ripping from my chest.

Every strike she threw was faster, harder, more precise , and yet, something inside me started to keep up. My body remembered even when my mind didn't. Step. Block. Twist. Breathe.

When her knife met mine, the sound rang sharp through the clearing.

She froze. "There. You feel that?"

I nodded, chest heaving. "Like a pulse."

"That's instinct. You start listening to that, you'll live longer."

I wanted to laugh , but there was nothing funny about survival.

Raven straightened, studying me with something that almost looked like approval. "You're not useless after all."

The words shouldn't have mattered, but they did. Something in my chest, quite small, fragile, lifted for the first time in days.

"Thanks," I muttered.

She smirked. "Don't thank me. You still fight like a deer."

We ended training when the sky started bleeding pale light. My body throbbed, my hands were shaking, but I stood straighter than before.

When I stumbled back into camp, Mason was there. As always. Sitting by the fire, eyes unreadable, arms crossed like he'd been watching for hours.

"You don't sleep?" I asked.

"Not when strangers are learning to use knives near my camp," he said dryly.

"I thought you didn't care."

"I don't." He looked me over. "But Raven breaks things she trains. I just wanted to see if you'd still be breathing."

My lips twitched. "Disappointed?"

His gaze flicked to the dirt under my nails, the bruises blooming across my arms. "Impressed," he said finally.

The word sat heavy between us.

Raven walked past, throwing her knife into the dirt beside the fire. "Don't get sentimental, Mason. She's still got a long way before she's one of us."

"One of you?" I asked.

Raven shrugged. "Rogue doesn't mean monster. It means survivor. You either learn that or die wishing someone had warned you sooner."

She disappeared into her tent, leaving me alone with Mason.

The fire cracked softly. He watched me from under his lashes. "You trust her?"

I hesitated. "I think she wants me alive. That's enough for now."

He gave a slow nod. "Then listen to her. But don't forget,Raven fights for no one but herself."

His gaze lingered a second too long, like he wanted to say more but swallowed it back. I wasn't sure which of us he distrusted more.

"Why are you telling me that?"

"Because I've seen what happens when people trust the wrong wolves." His tone darkened. "And I've buried enough of them."

The silence that followed was heavy. Too heavy.

I sat down near the fire, stretching my hands toward the heat. My fingers trembled, not from cold , from something else. That flicker I'd seen before, that strange silver hum beneath my skin.

It was stronger now.

Mason noticed. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

He leaned closer, and for a second, the air shifted , charged, electric. His eyes weren't just brown anymore. They glowed faintly, gold bleeding through like sunlight.

"You've got something in you," he said softly. "Something old."

My throat went dry. "What are you talking about?"

Before he could answer, Raven's voice cut through the air. "Mason."

We both turned. She was standing just outside the firelight, face pale, eyes sharp. "Scouts found something on the border. Claw marks. Deep ones."

Mason rose instantly, all traces of warmth gone. "Wolves?"

Raven shook her head slowly. "Not wolves. Bigger."

A chill crawled up my spine.

"What does that mean?" I whispered.

Raven looked at me , and for once, she didn't mock or dismiss. Her expression was grim. "It means whatever's hunting out there isn't one of us."

Mason grabbed his coat, jaw set. "We move at dawn. Pack what you need."

Raven nodded, already gone again, fading into the shadows.

I stayed by the fire, heart hammering. The wind had shifted , colder now, sharper, carrying something like a whisper.

My name.

I turned toward the forest, but saw nothing. Only black trees and moonlight.

Still, I could've sworn I heard it again, closer this time.

"Zylia..."

The voice was low, deep, and wrong.

The silver light under my skin pulsed once, bright enough that even Mason saw.

He froze, staring at me like I'd just become something dangerous.

The air between us shivered, like even the forest knew something had changed.

And maybe, I had.