Chapter2

I stood on the Judgment Stone.

Every exiled person ended up standing here, hearing their sentence, then being led away.

All eyes turned to me—the scrutiny of Alphas, the indifference of Betas, the sympathetic yet evasive looks from other Omegas.

"Shattered Bone Wasteland." The speaker was Gamma Orion. His voice was rough, like sandpaper on wood. "The northern outpost needs hands. The environment there is harsh enough—perfect for teaching certain people some rules."

I lifted my head.

Kael was tapping the armrest rhythmically, as if growing impatient with this drawn-out process. His face was turned aside, listening to Corbin speak.

Corbin was our Beta adjutant. Right now he was pointing northeast—where the Shattered Bone Wasteland lay.

I'd heard of the Shattered Bone Wasteland. Every child in the Greystone Pack had.

No trees there, only weathered sharp stones and fifty-degree temperature swings between day and night.

Wolves sent there either died in the first sandstorm or died searching for water.

I'd never heard of anyone surviving a year.

Corbin's voice carried over on the wind in fragments: "...resources are limited, allocation must consider efficiency."

Orion picked up the thread. As Gamma commander, his voice was rough: "Should've sent her away long ago, if you ask me. An Omega, constantly messing with herbs, treating warriors without permission. Rules are rules."

My spine went rigid.

Maybe he'd always known.

That night I dragged Kael into the hut, perhaps there'd been a witness, perhaps someone had smelled the blood and herbs.

"...the outpost at Shattered Bone Wasteland needs people." Corbin's voice became clearer. "The conditions are harsh, yes, but it's exactly the place to temper one's will. She likes to 'do things,' doesn't she? There's plenty to do there."

Orion sneered. "Just afraid she won't live long enough to do them."

Several commanders on the platform spoke in low voices, nodding. They were like people discussing whether to replace a rusty plow or dispose of a lame old horse.

Kael's motion stopped.

He finally looked up, his gaze sweeping across the square, landing on me.

Just for an instant.

His eyes held no warmth, no hesitation, no apology.

Like seeing a bird perched on a stone.

Then he looked away and said to Cyrus: "Follow procedure."

Four words.

Not loud, but enough to silence the entire square. Follow procedure—meaning accept Orion's proposal, send me to the Shattered Bone Wasteland.

He turned back to say something to Corbin.

Corbin nodded, raising his voice: "Then it's settled. Ellara, allocated to Shattered Bone Wasteland Eastern Outpost. Depart immediately."

The wind suddenly picked up, whipping sand against my face.

I stood on the Judgment Stone, barefoot on the cold obsidian, looking at those people on the platform who decided my life and death.

Orion wore a satisfied expression. Corbin recorded on the scroll. Other commanders either whispered to each other or had already looked elsewhere, waiting for the ceremony to end.

Kael's hand left the stone rail.

He turned, preparing to descend from the platform.

It was over.

My fate, nailed down with one sentence to the sand and stone of the Shattered Bone Wasteland.

I should be afraid. Should be trembling. Should be like other exiled Omegas, collapsing on the stone in tears.

But I wasn't.

I felt a strange calm, like ice sealing over all the turmoil beneath.

Hatred was no longer a roiling flame. It sank down, settling into something cold and hard, lodged in the deepest part of my heart.

My blood is in your body, Kael.

I gave you half my life.

Now you're sending me to die.

Good.

Below the platform, Cyrus walked forward a few steps. He held the scroll in his hand, looking up at me, face still expressionless. The ceremony wasn't finished—there was one final step, that ancient right almost no one ever used.