Chapter 7

In a cold briefing before dawn at the pack grounds, Rafe had pulled Celeste aside. His tone was clipped as he laid out the new assignment—a task meant to test her endurance rather than her skills. "Celeste, today you will carry the heavy supplies up the mountain pass. It's a task usually shared among several of us, but I want to see if you can handle it alone," he had said, his eyes hard and unreadable. His words carried a challenge, a twisted form of amusement at her expense. "Consider it a chance to prove your worth, if you can."

At 0500 hours this morning, the mountain pass loomed ahead, shrouded in a thin veil of early mist. The rugged path twisted upward, flanked by sheer cliffs and icy gusts. Celeste stood at the base with a large, cumbersome pack of supplies slung over her shoulder—a weight far heavier than it should have been for one member alone. Around her, the pack members gathered in tight clusters, exchanging low, mocking bets about how long she'd last before collapsing.

Without hesitation, Celeste tightened her grip and began her ascent. Every step forward was a battle: the rocky path bit into her soles, and the cold wind whipped at her cheeks, stinging like a lash. Her muscles burned with each effort; every sinew and fiber screamed for relief. Yet, she pushed on, refusing to display any sign of weakness. Even as her heart pounded fiercely and her limbs trembled, she held her head high—if only for herself.

As she climbed, a few voices drifted from below. "Bet she won't last ten minutes!" one voice jeered, laced with cruel humor. Another snorted, "That's all the cursed magic in her blood, isn't it? A spark that fizzles out under real pressure." Their words fell like daggers, but Celeste forced her gaze upward, focusing solely on the path ahead.

Every few yards, she paused briefly to adjust the load, her breath coming in ragged gasps. With each pause, the pack's mocking laughter grew louder in her ears. The weight of their scorn was almost as burdensome as the supplies themselves. Still, she pressed on, determined to complete the task and reclaim a shred of dignity in their eyes—even if it was just for a moment.

About halfway up the pass, Celeste's pace began to falter. The steep incline and the biting cold had taken their toll. Her arms, once steady, now shook violently as the heavy pack pulled her backward. Her hands, raw and bleeding from the friction of the straps, gripped the load desperately. For a long, agonizing moment, she fought against her body's protest, unwilling to yield.

"Come on, Celeste," she murmured through gritted teeth, each word punctuated by the relentless pounding of her heart. "I mustn't show them any weakness." The internal monologue was as much a plea as it was a battle cry against the isolation and ridicule that had dogged her every step.

At that moment, a sharp stumble sent her sprawling on the rugged path. The supplies clattered to the ground with a jarring thud. The mocking laughter from below swelled into a cacophony of amusement as onlookers placed their bets on her failure. Celeste's vision blurred with pain, and tears stung her eyes not solely from the physical agony, but from the humiliation searing through her.

Struggling to rise, her bleeding hands gripping the cold, unforgiving rock, she forced herself upright. Every movement sent waves of pain radiating through her limbs, but she refused to let the pack see her crumble. With shaking determination, she hoisted the supplies back onto her shoulder and began to continue her ascent.

Before she could gain any momentum, a commanding voice rang out, cutting through the jeers and the harsh wind. "Enough!" Rafe's tone was icy, his words echoing against the mountain walls. He strode up the pass with unyielding authority, his gaze fixed on Celeste as she struggled. "Stop this, Celeste."

Her progress halted abruptly. With her body wracked by exhaustion and her mind clouded by a mixture of anger and humiliation, she turned to face him. "Rafe," she pleaded, her voice hoarse and trembling, "I— I can do this. Let me finish what I started."

But Rafe's eyes offered no compassion. "Pathetic," he muttered, the word slicing through her like a final verdict. "You're done." His dismissal was as cold as the mountain air, and without waiting for any response, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone on the narrow, unforgiving path.

The silence that followed was heavy and oppressive. Celeste stood there, the weight of the supplies now an unbearable burden on her bruised body and wounded pride. Every mocking laugh and derisive comment echoed in her mind, mingling with the raw pain of her bleeding hands. The mountain pass, with its treacherous incline and biting cold, seemed to mock her every faltering step.

Her heart pounded in the stillness as she slowly gathered herself, the bitter taste of defeat mixing with a fierce, smoldering determination. "Is this what I'm destined to be?" she thought, her voice a low whisper carried away by the wind. "Forever pushed to the brink, always forced to prove that I'm nothing more than a failure?"

With no other option but to continue, Celeste hoisted the supplies once more and began the long, grueling climb. Every step was a testament to her resilience, yet every step also deepened the gnawing anxiety that perhaps she was indeed trapped in this cycle of degradation—destined never to escape the humiliation that the pack had imposed on her.

As the day wore on, the biting cold and physical strain merged with the emotional weight of the day's events. By the time Celeste reached the halfway mark of the pass, the sun was beginning its slow descent behind the towering peaks. The fading light cast long, distorted shadows along the path, and the world seemed to blur into a haze of exhaustion and sorrow.

Her hands, now raw and trembling, could barely keep hold of the supplies. The sound of her labored breathing filled the silent intervals between the distant calls of pack members working on other assignments. Each heartbeat reminded her of the gap between the hope of a mate bond—a promise of a future where she might finally be valued—and the crushing reality of her current fate.

In a brief moment of respite, she found a small alcove where the wind died down and the rocky surface offered a momentary rest. Collapsing onto the cold stone, Celeste allowed herself a few stolen minutes to treat her wounds. She pressed a piece of cloth to her bleeding hands, her vision blurring as exhaustion took its toll. The pain was almost unbearable, a reminder of every insult, every physical and emotional blow that had been dealt to her since the day she was deemed unworthy.

Her mind wandered to the mate bond she so desperately clung to—a mythic promise that might one day rescue her from the endless isolation. But now, as she sat in the twilight chill with nothing but the sting of her wounds for company, that hope seemed more distant than ever. Could the fabled mate bond really break the chains that held her down? Or was it merely another tale meant to soothe the desperate hearts of those like her?

A few moments later, as dusk deepened into the quiet of night, Celeste slowly rose to her feet. The climb was far from over, yet the prospect of returning to her quarters for some semblance of healing was a beacon in the darkness. With every step she took, her body screamed in protest, yet her resolve refused to waver. She knew that if she could only survive this trial, maybe—just maybe—she could find a way to prove herself, to overcome the ridicule and the isolation that had defined her life.

But as she trudged along the now dimly lit path, a subtle shift in the wind carried a whisper of something unexpected—a murmur that might hold the key to a change in her fate. A fleeting thought sparked in her weary mind: in three days, the signs foretold by the Moon Goddess might finally manifest in the form of a mate bond. The promise, once so bright and tantalizing, now seemed to hang precariously in the balance between hope and despair.

Celeste's steps faltered as she reached a small clearing at the edge of the mountain pass. There, under the emerging stars, she paused and allowed herself a moment to reflect. The bitter chill of the evening contrasted sharply with the burning fire of her determination. With each beat of her aching heart, she questioned if the pain she endured was the price she had to pay for even the smallest chance at liberation from this cycle of humiliation.

"Why must I suffer so?" she whispered into the cool night, her voice barely audible. "Is the promise of a mate bond truly worth this endless torment?"

No answer came—only the rustle of leaves and the distant echo of pack life. Yet, even in that silence, a new question emerged, one that would hang over her like a shadow as she made her way to her quarters. The promise of change, of a mate bond that might redefine her destiny, now appeared to be both a salvation and a curse. Was it possible that the very hope that kept her going would one day be the instrument of her ultimate undoing?

Her mind churned with uncertainty as she finally set foot on the familiar path leading back to her quarters. Every step was heavy with the memory of Rafe's cold command and the derision of her fellow pack members. The earlier cheers and mocking bets now faded into a grim determination, leaving her with nothing but the ache of betrayal and the spark of defiant hope.

In the solitude of her small, sparsely furnished quarters, Celeste finally collapsed onto a narrow cot. With trembling hands, she stripped away her soiled garments and gingerly began to tend to her wounds, dabbing at the blood and bruises that marked her skin. As she worked, the quiet of the night wrapped around her, offering no comfort, only a stark reminder of the isolation that had become her reality.

Exhaustion pressed in like a relentless tide. Her eyelids grew heavy, the day's hardships finally catching up with her. As sleep threatened to claim her battered body, her mind wandered back to the promise of the mate bond—a promise that, according to the ancient lore, might reveal itself in as little as three days from now.

In a final moment of quiet reflection, Celeste whispered to herself, "If the mate bond is to come, will it lift me from this isolation, or deepen the wounds of my soul?" The question, laden with both yearning and dread, hung in the cool night air, unanswered and trembling with possibility.

Just as sleep began to overtake her, a soft, almost imperceptible sound reached her ears—a murmur that could have been the wind or something else entirely. It was a whisper of change, a hint that the fate she so desperately sought might be closer than she dared believe. And in that fragile, uncertain moment, as darkness and hope intertwined, Celeste drifted into a restless sleep.

The next three days promised to be critical. Would the mate bond finally emerge as the salvation she longed for, or would it remain a distant dream—another cruel reminder of the isolation that had defined her life?

The question lingered in the silence of her quarters, leaving Celeste on the brink of a new, uncertain dawn—one where her fate remained a mystery, suspended between defiance and despair, waiting to be unraveled.