Nyx
Weeks pass. The world doesn’t end. It shifts. Slowly. Reluctantly. Like the earth turning beneath the weight of something inevitable. The air smells different now. Cleaner. Freer. In the mornings, I walk through the new training grounds, if they can still be called that.
Once, they were arenas of hierarchy and blood, where power was determined by gender, bloodline, and fear. Now, the sound that fills them is laughter. Grit. Unity. Males and females spar side by side, claws and fists meeting in equal fury.
Omegas run drills with Betas. Alphas train without titles. Strength is earned, not inherited. Screens line the perimeter. Holographic projections hovering in the air, tracking vitals, strength ratios, even mental sync between wolves and their counterparts.
Each training session
