Unfriendly friend-like behaviour

The girl didn't pause. She drew her fist back for another blow, pure, unfiltered rage contorting her face.

"Let me go! I have scores to settle!" she shrieked, her voice raw and furious as Marco and I lunged forward almost simultaneously. Marco caught her swinging arm, wrenching it back, while I grabbed her other shoulder, pulling her away from Zale. She fought like a wildcat, spitting curses, trying to twist free. "Get off! He deserves worse!"

Behind us, Roan was already at Zale's side, a clean cloth appearing from somewhere, pressing it gently to Zale's bleeding mouth. "Easy. Hold this," Roan murmured, his voice calm but eyes sharp, assessing the damage.

Zale blinked, dazed, holding the cloth. His gaze focused on the girl struggling in our grip. Confusion warred with recognition, then blossomed into incredulous disbelief. A slow, dazzling smile spread across his face, completely at odds with the blood on his lip. "Nyx?" he breathed, the name laced with pure astonishment. Then, the confusion deepened, sharpening into genuine bewilderment. "Wait… what are you doing here?"

Nyx stopped struggling for a second, breathing hard, her glare fixed on Zale like she could set him ablaze. "I'll tell you what!" she snarled, renewing her efforts to break free. Marco grunted, tightening his grip. Zale, wiping his lip again, stepped closer, blocking her next attempted swing with his forearm, not aggressively, but firmly.

"Nyx, stop! What in the seven hells?" Zale demanded, his voice a mix of exasperation and lingering shock. He looked at us, the group holding his furious assailant. "This is Nyx. We grew up together. Back in…" He trailed off, trying not to divulge information more than necessary. "She's a friend." He added the last part softly, almost defensively, though Nyx's expression remained fiercely hostile, her eyes narrowed with a hurt that ran deeper than anger.

"No, Zale, that's the most unfriend-like behavior I've ever seen." Marco said, but Nyx turned to him instead and glared at him harder than she did at Zale. 

Marco muttered a silent apology before looking away.

Nyx finally stilled, though the fury didn't leave her posture. She glared up at Zale again, ignoring the rest of us completely. "I got your letter," she spat, pink strands bouncing wildly with every jerk of her head."The one you left with Old Man Harkin before you vanished like a coward. And I followed you. All the way to that cursed mountain. I've been looking for you everywhere since I got here."

Zale's eyes widened further, genuine shock replacing the confusion. "My letter? You followed…?" He stared at her, taking in her Citadel uniform. "Are you mad? Did you… did you Bond?" The question held disbelief and a dawning horror.

Nyx drew herself up, her chin jutting out with fierce, defiant pride. The anger was still there, banked but glowing hot. "Yes," she declared, her voice ringing clear in the sudden quiet that had fallen around our little group. Bondeds nearby were openly staring now. "Sezja. Because someone had to make sure you didn't get yourself killed trying to be a hero, Zale Kylendor. Someone had to be here to knock some sense into you when you inevitably needed it." She gestured pointedly at his split lip with her chin, a grim satisfaction in her eyes. "Seems I arrived just in time."

The air crackled with the raw energy of Nyx's declaration and Zale's stunned silence. The courtyard's ambient noise had dropped to a hushed murmur, dozens of eyes fixed on the drama unfolding near the Feabhas contingent. Nyx's defiance, Zale's bleeding lip, Marco's wary grip, Roan's steady presence beside Zale, and my own coiled readiness – it was a tableau of chaos Beta Cael would surely detest.

Before Zale could formulate a response to Nyx's revelation, a figure moved with deliberate speed from the direction of the Sezja group. Gamma Jia, the young woman with the striking copper-red braids woven through her dark hair, cut through the onlookers. Her expression was stern, sharp disapproval evident in her features. She stopped directly before Nyx, her gaze sweeping over the scene: Marco and I still loosely restraining her, Zale holding the bloodied cloth, Roan standing protectively close, and Nyx herself, radiating fury and fierce pride.

"Enough," Gamma Jia stated, her voice low but carrying the weight of command. It wasn't a shout, but it silenced the last whispers around us. Her pale green eyes fixed on Nyx. "Control yourself, Aspirant. This is neither the time nor the place for settling personal scores. The Citadel's discipline begins now."

Nyx flinched, the fire in her eyes banked by the direct rebuke from her Gamma. She stopped straining against our hold, though her body remained rigid with unspent anger. Marco and I cautiously released her arms, stepping back slightly but staying ready.

Gamma Jia's gaze swept across our group, lingering briefly on Zale's split lip and the stunned expressions, before addressing everyone within earshot, her voice lifting slightly to carry authority. "Newly Bonded! Attend! The Orientation is imminent. You will proceed to the Hall of Echoes immediately. Form ranks by Pack – Feabhas, Kuzgun, Lorgaire, Nathair, Leighis, Sezja. Move swiftly and silently."

She paused, her eyes scanning the milling crowd, ensuring her message was sinking in. "Understand this: tradition dictates all Six Alphas welcome the newly forged. But the front lines bleed, and our Alphas stand guard. Only two could be spared to address you today." A ripple of understanding, mixed with disappointment and heightened awareness of the war's proximity, passed through the bondeds. "Their time is precious. Your respect must be absolute."

Her gaze sharpened, returning to us specifically, but encompassing the whole courtyard. "The Pack Leadership – Gammas, Betas, and the two Alphas present – await you within the Hall. You will enter with discipline. You will stand with respect. The forging of Zevarra's shield continues within those walls. Do not dishonor it, or yourselves, with petty squabbles." Her final glance at Nyx was pointed. "Sezja. Fall in. Now."

Gamma Jia turned on her heel and strode purposefully towards the massive iron-bound doors of the Hall of Echoes, clearly expecting immediate obedience. Around us, the loose clusters of Bondeds began to coalesce into distinct Pack groupings, the earlier chaos giving way to a tense, hurried order. Kuzgun warriors snapped into rigid lines behind Beta Weles. Lorgaire trackers moved with quietly towards Gamma Kora. Nathair stood in formation near Rydeen's shadow, that of course I couldn't tell. 

Nyx shot Zale one last, smoldering look, a promise of unfinished business clear in her eyes. But under her Gamma's command, she turned stiffly and marched towards the assembling Sezja group without another word.

Zale lowered the cloth from his lip, wincing. The bleeding had slowed, but it was a stark, swollen mess. He looked utterly bewildered, staring after Nyx's retreating back. "Sezja...?" he murmured, the implications dawning on him – his childhood friend, fiercely protective, now Bonded to a guardian wolf.

Roan clapped a hand on his shoulder, breaking his daze. "Later, Zale. Move." His voice was low and urgent, already steering Zale towards where his pack members stood, the Feabhas group rapidly forming up beside him, Beta Cael nowhere to be seen.

Marco exhaled sharply beside me, running a hand through his hair. "Well. That was... informative. And painful. Mostly for Zale." He shot me a look. "Ready for the grand welcome?"

I nodded, pushing down the lingering unease from Kaelum's silence and the jarring violence of Nyx's arrival, and watched Marco make his way to his own pack. The imposing doors of the Hall of Echoes loomed ahead, flanked by stone wolves. Inside, the leadership of the Citadel waited. Inside, the next step began. Roan and I fell into step with the Feabhas ranks, the only sounds the rhythmic tread of boots on stone and the heavy thud of my own heartbeat.

The moment we stepped through the doors of the Hall of Echoes, the hush deepened. The space swallowed sound like a living thing, the cool hush pressing in from every stone surface.

The hall was circular, carved entirely from pale mountain rock that shimmered faintly beneath the flickering sconces mounted along the inner walls. The most striking thing, though, was the ceiling—or lack of it. Above us, the sky gaped open in a perfect ring, the night indigo and vast, scattered with stars. Clouds moved in slow spirals beyond the edge, and moonlight poured in like liquid silver, illuminating the wide, raised platform at the center of the chamber.

Six distinct arcs of seating enclosed the open center in rising tiers. Each section was clearly marked by the sigils of the Six Packs carved into the stone ledges.

We moved as one toward our section. Roan nudged my elbow gently and nodded toward the third row from the front, where a dark figure sat with straight-backed composure—Beta Cael. His long frame was still, hands resting loosely on his knees, the feabhas insignia gleaming silver on the shoulder of his tunic. He was alone amidst the empty spaces soon to be filled.

Without a word, Roan led the way, and we slid into the row behind him. I took my place between him and another pack member, who flopped onto the stone bench with the kind of dramatic sigh that only half-masked tension. Mirelle dropped into the seat beside him and shot me a smile which I returned. 

The stone was cold beneath me, but the sense of gravity here—the weight of tradition, of generations who had sat in these same seats—was warmer than fire.

From our vantage point, we could see the other Packs filing in, settling into their own sections. The Kuzgun sat like shadows across from us, quiet and sharp-eyed. Nathair assembled on our left with near-silent precision. The Leighis murmured in low, measured tones, their calm a balm after the chaos. Lorgaire moved with lazy confidence, but there was no denying the readiness beneath their ease. Zale was visible from here, lips still a little bloodied, eyes pinned on the far entrance through which a few other older bondeds were entering. And Sezja arrived last, their Gamma at the lead, red braids stark against the night. Nyx walked at the center of their formation, her jaw set, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

She didn't look toward us or any of the packs, namely Zale's, not once.

Soon, the six sections were full. The murmurs faded, replaced by expectant silence. The center platform remained empty, though all our eyes were drawn to it. It wasn't grand—just a circular rise of dark stone, large enough to hold ten Bondeds shoulder-to-shoulder—but something about it demanded attention.

Roan leaned in slightly, voice pitched low. "Two Alphas. Any guess who?"

"I don't think it should either be from, Feabhas or Kuzgun, considering those two are the packs most needed on the front along with Leighis. Could be Lorgaire and Nathaire maybe?"

Roan tilted his head, his hands stretched on both sides of him, "Maybe."