Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Obsidian Covenant #1: The Rejected Mate's Ruin: Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

POV: GullerA mind in pain was like a beacon in the dark.To most Highbloods, the Academy was a cacophony of shallow thoughts—hunger, ambition, lust, aggression. It was a roar of static that I had learned to tune out years ago. But Neoma’s mind was different.It was a silence. A deep, cold well in the middle of a burning desert.And right now, that well was vibrating.I sat in the lotus position in the center of the Faculty Meditation Room. The air smelled of sandalwood and the beeswax candles flickering on the altar.My physical body was still. My breathing shallow. But my consciousness was drifting through the stone walls of the dormitory block, drawn to the spike of adrenaline I felt from the Asset.She was crashing.The fight with the cadet, Jax, followed by the confrontation in the bathroom with Vex... it had been too much. She had held the line. She had saved the F-Rank girl. She had stood tall while the adrenaline pumped through her veins like liquid fire.But now, the fire was

POV: WolfyHistory was written by the victors. The margins were written by survivors.The Academy Library was a cathedral of victors. Rows of gilded tomes detailed the glorious conquests of the Lycan Empire, the wisdom of the Lugals, and the inherent biological superiority of the Highblood caste. It was propaganda bound in leather.But I preferred the margins.I sat at a secluded table in the Restricted Section—access code bypassed effortlessly, of course—surrounded by stacks of architectural schematics and maintenance logs.The air smelled of decay and knowledge. A dry, dusty scent that tickled the back of my throat. Dust motes danced in the single beam of light filtering through the high window. Swirling in patterns that mimicked galaxies."You look like you're plotting a murder," Neoma said. She dropped into the chair opposite me. Thud.She looked tired. The incident in the bathroom had drained her, though the set of her jaw remained defiant. She smelled of cheap Academy soap and t

POV: NeomaFour teachers. One student. The lines were blurring.In the beginning, training had been a transaction. Barzil taught me survival, Wolfy taught me logic, Viggo taught me pain, and Guller taught me balance. It was a curriculum designed to keep an asset functional.But three days before the Tournament, the curriculum changed. Or maybe we did.It started with Barzil.We were on the mats, working on disarming techniques. He moved behind me to correct my stance. Usually, he would bark the order or nudge me with a boot.This time, his hands settled on my hips."Widen your base," he rumbled. His chest pressed against my back. Solid. Warm.He didn't pull away immediately. His large, scarred hands lingered. His thumbs traced the line of my combat belt. The heat radiating from him wasn't the scorching fire of the forge; it was the steady, grounding warmth of a hearth.I leaned back into him, just an inch. I felt his breath hitch against my neck. A small, involuntary sound that vibrat

POV: NeomaThe arena roared with the sound of ten thousand Lycans.It wasn't a cheer. It was a wall of noise—a chaotic mix of screams, stomping feet, and the deep, subsonic drumming of fists against chests. Thum-thum-thum. The sound vibrated in the nanoweave of my suit. Making my teeth ache. My bones rattled in their sockets.I stood on the sand of the Academy Arena. A speck of black in a sea of grey uniforms. Around me, ninety-nine other cadets rolled their shoulders. Crack. Pop. They flared their nostrils. Inhaling the scent of the violence to come—ozone, sweat, and anticipation."Rules are simple," the Master at Arms bellowed from the hovering referee platform. "One hundred enter. Ten remain. No lethal magic. No weapons. Last ones standing advance."He raised a flare gun.Pop. Hiss.A red streak cut across the sky. Sizzling.The world exploded.It wasn't a fight; it was a collision of tectonic plates. To my left, a massive Alpha slammed into two Betas. The impact sent them flying l

POV: NeomaOne on one. Nowhere to hide.The melee had been chaos, and chaos was a friend to the small. You could get lost in it. You could let the giants crush each other while you slipped through the cracks. But the Semi-Finals were sterile.The arena had been cleared of debris. The sand was raked smooth. There were no blind spots to exploit, no gravity glitches to trip over. Just a circle of white chalk, fifty feet across, and the opponent waiting on the other side.Cadet Rix.He was a blur of motion even when standing still. A Beta from House Grimm, specialized in speed. He had already partially shifted—his legs elongated and digitigrade, the tendons snapping with potential energy. His claws were out. Four inches of serrated bone."Begin!" the Master at Arms shouted.Rix vanished.He didn't run; he flickered. He crossed the fifty feet in two heartbeats. Thump-thump.I reacted on instinct. Throwing myself to the left.Shick.I wasn't fast enough.A line of fire erupted on my upper a