Chapter 3: Boys, Beer and Bitter Cold
Charis
Twenty-four hours.
That’s how long it had been since I became Eamon Riggs, since I stepped off that train and since I arrived at Ravenshore Academy.
Twenty-four hours of itchy clothes, dry bread and the kind of cold that sank into your bones and clawed at your soul. I scratched discreetly at my collarbone, trying not to draw attention to myself.
The binding across my chest was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and I would have given anything- absolutely anything – for a hot shower to rinse away the grime of travel and fear that clung to my skin.
But Ravenshore Academy had other plans.
The prestigious institution that had produced the best Alphas in our world, including my father, was nothing like the gleaming citadel of learning I’d imagined. We’d arrived at Ravenshore long after dark and dumped onto the frost-bitten field outside the Academy.
Instead of warm welcomes or welcome feasts and comfortable dormitories, we’d been herded into the courtyard upon arrival, handed threadbare sleeping bags and given stale bread that could have doubled as a weapon.
"Future Alphas," one of the senior instructors had sneered, pacing before us like we were prisoners rather than students. "In your father’s pack, you may be royalty. Here, you’re lower than Omegas. Here, you must earn your rank."
For centuries, Ravenshore Academy had been the foundation where the greatest Alphas were forged through discipline, pain and relentless training. Where heirs were stripped of their titles and turned into warriors, or broken, trying.
Every year, pack Alphas from across the continent sent their sons to Ravenshore. In contrast, their daughters were sent to Ebonvale, the sister Academy for daughters of Alpha, which specialised in creating perfect Lunas, a path that would have been mine.