Chapter 3 3

The dawn broke over the mountains, casting a golden hue across the pack's territory as the forest awoke with quiet murmurs and the soft sounds of rustling leaves. For most wolves, this morning marked the beginning of another day filled with purpose, training, camaraderie, and the company of those who accepted them.

For Rona however, dawn only signaled another day of solitude, another chapter in her life that would be painted with the dull, familiar shades of isolation.

Rona lingered at the edge of the training grounds, careful to remain hidden in the shadow of the thick pines. A few early risers were already stretching, preparing for a session with the pack warriors who would lead them through drills and strategies. She watched with a mixture of longing and envy as they laughed and joked, the bonds of friendship between them as visible as the morning mist. Though she was close enough to hear their voices, it was as if an invisible wall kept her out-she could watch, but she could never step into their world.

As the group grew, so did the chatter, some voices rising with teasing challenges, others offering words of encouragement.

Rona's gaze lingered on a small group of Omega wolves near the edge of the field, their laughter and relaxed manner reminding her painfully of what she was missing. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to be included in such easy banter, to be someone they greeted by name with warmth in their voices.

But she didn't have to wonder for long. Just as she felt herself leaning a fraction closer, one of the wolves glanced her way, his expression instantly darkening. A snide smirk tugged at his mouth as he nudged the Omega beside him, who looked over at her with equal disdain.

"Look who's watching from the shadows," the first wolf murmured, loud enough for her to hear. "Rona, the half-breed lurker."

The group snickered, their mocking laughter hanging in the air like smoke.

Rona clenched her fists, feeling the burn of shame rise in her cheeks. She had been foolish to hope they wouldn't notice her, foolish to think that her mere presence wouldn't provoke ridicule.

She didn't know why she feels hurt everytime this happens. She's had years of experience that should've conditioned her to get used to this treatment, but despite it all, it still hurt a lot, and yet, it still never stops her from trying again another time.

Just what did she even hope to achieve in the first place?

Without a word, she turned away, quickening her pace as she walked down the familiar path to escape their jeers.

She took a deep breath as she distanced herself from the training grounds, focusing on the soft crunch of leaves beneath her feet.

She didn't need them, she reminded herself.

She had lived most of her life without their approval or company, and she would continue to do so. But the hollowness that settled in her chest said otherwise, the faint ache of loneliness pressing against her heart.

The path led her toward the far edge of the territory, where the quiet was her only companion, and she could almost imagine herself as part of the forest, blending into the gentle sway of trees and whisper of wind.

This was where she belonged, she told herself, away from the others, in the shadows where she could observe without being seen.

Her daily chores awaited her in the heart of the camp, but first, she allowed herself a brief detour-to the small, overgrown meadow at the edge of the forest where her grandmother's grave lay beneath an old oak tree within the confines of the land dedicated as the packs burial ground but far away enough from most graves to prevent her presence from upsetting some.

The grave was modest, a simple stone marker worn by years and softened by patches of wildflowers that Rona herself had planted each spring. It was here, in this quiet, sacred space, that she felt a semblance of peace.

She knelt beside the gravestone, brushing her fingers over the smooth surface as she whispered, "Good morning, Grandmother."

Her grandmother had been the only one who ever truly saw her, the only one who looked at her with kindness instead of judgment. She had been the one constant in Rona's life, a gentle presence who had soothed her wounds, both visible and hidden. But her grandmother was gone now, and Rona was left with only memories, fragments of comfort that barely kept the loneliness at bay.

"I... I don't know what to do anymore," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Sometimes, I think maybe if I work hard enough, if I try to be good enough, they'll... they'll see me differently. But I don't think that's possible, Grandmother. Not for someone like me."

A soft breeze stirred the leaves, rustling them gently, as if offering her silent reassurance. Rona closed her eyes, feeling the familiar sting of tears. She hated how often she ended up here, at this gravestone, seeking comfort from someone who could no longer speak. It made her feel weak, as if she were still that frightened child clinging to her grandmother's hand, hoping for love in a world that refused to give it.

With a sigh, she rose, brushing the dirt from her knees and casting one last, lingering glance at the gravestone. "I'll come back later, or tomorrow," she promised softly before turning away.

**

Back in the heart of the camp, her day resumed its usual rhythm of chores, though even this came with its own share of challenges.

She was responsible for mundane tasks-cleaning the main lodge, gathering herbs, preparing food for the hunters. It was menial work, work that the other Omegas took for granted, but to Rona, it was a small reprieve from the constant whispers and judgmental stares.

But even as she worked, she couldn't fully escape her status. The cook, a sharp-tongued older shewolf named Marla, eyed her with barely concealed disdain as she handed Rona a basket of vegetables to wash.

"Make sure you don't bruise them," Marla warned, her tone clipped. "Last time, you wasted half the basket."

Rona nodded, accepting the basket without protest, though she could feel the familiar sting of unfairness settle over her. She had done her best, worked as carefully as she could, but Marla always found something to criticize. She suspected it wasn't about her work-it was simply another reminder of her place.

As Rona scrubbed the dirt from the carrots under the cold stream of water, her ears perked up at the lively chatter of a group of younger wolves nearby. Their voices, high-pitched and brimming with energy, carried over to her with ease. She paused, her hands momentarily still as she focused on the conversation.

"Did you hear? Veyron is training with the Alpha warriors tomorrow!" one girl exclaimed, practically bouncing on her toes.

"No way!" another chimed in, her voice full of longing. "He's so incredible to watch. The way he moves? It's like he's dancing and fighting at the same time."

"He's not just fighting, though," a boy added, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. "He's teaching. Last time, he corrected my stance, and I swear I felt like I was standing taller all week."

The first girl giggled. "I wish I could join tomorrow. Just imagine-being up close while Veyron trains. Maybe he'll notice me and-"

"Yeah, right." The boy snorted. "He'd probably notice your poor excuse of a punch first."

"Shut up!" she shot back, smacking him playfully. "At least I'm brave enough to throw a punch."

Their laughter rang out, teasing yet warm, and Rona's chest tightened as she lowered the carrots into the basin. A wistful smile tugged at her lips, even as a faint ache crept into her heart.

Veyron.

His name alone stirred something complicated within her-a mix of admiration, envy, and something softer she still couldn't quite name. He was one of the wolves she had always watched from the shadows whenever she could, the Alpha's son who carried himself like he was born to lead. It wasn't just his strength that captivated her but the way he moved with purpose, the ease with which he commanded respect. Even the way the others spoke of him now made her heart squeeze.

She remembered the way he had looked at her once-his expression blank, his eyes distant, as if she were invisible. To him, she was less than nothing, an insignificant speck in the grand tapestry of his life.

She bit her lip, fighting the wave of longing that surged through her. She wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged-not necessarily by him, but to just be part of something bigger than herself.

However, she knew better than to hope for a world where someone like Veyron would even spare her a passing thought. She could only dream of it.

The hours dragged on, each task a monotonous routine that barely kept her mind occupied. She scrubbed, gathered, and sorted, each motion automatic, as if she were a ghost moving through the camp. Occasionally, she caught snippets of laughter or conversation from others, but those sounds only served as painful reminders of the life she could never have.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Rona finished her final task, her hands sore and her body aching. She cast a quick glance around the camp, noticing the clusters of wolves gathered in small groups, talking and laughing as they prepared for the evening meal. No one spared her a second glance, not to mention inviting her to join them.

With a weary sigh, she made her way back to the quiet meadow where her grandmother's grave lay, needing the solace of that familiar place more than ever. As she knelt beside the gravestone once more, she allowed herself to sink into the silence, the weight of her loneliness pressing down on her like an invisible shroud.

"I wish... I wish things were different," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the evening air. "I wish I could be someone they cared about. Somebody someone could... love."

Her words faded into the quiet, the only response the rustling of leaves in the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness of the forest wrap around her like a comforting blanket, as if the trees and earth themselves understood her pain.

But as she sat there, alone in the growing shadows, a small, fragile hope flickered within her-a hope that one day, somehow, things might change. That one day, she might find a place where she truly belonged.

Until then, she would endure. She would survive, even if she had to do it alone.