The Chronicles of Alpha Academy (bxb)

1: Happy Birthday

Chapter One: Happy Birthday

James

"This is it! This is it!!" Jordan squealed, which was the stupidest noise I'd heard in a long time.

I tried not to laugh in his face, but what else was I supposed to do? The fourteen year old pipsqueak looked like he was about to faint.

"Don't!! Don't make fun of me!!" my little roommate scowled, noting my amusement. "In less than an hour, you might be bowing down to me as your new Keystone Alpha!"

This time I did laugh. I didn't even try to hold it in.  "That's not how it works."

"You never know..." he pouted. "It could be me. It could be any of us."

We walked together down the long corridor, along with every other student, jostling each other, teasing, but with an undercurrent of tension so thick you could almost eat it. This really was the moment we'd waited for during the last four years. Well, really, the moment we'd ALL anticipated for the last hundred years.

Jordan and I stepped into Convocation. The room always gave me a slight feeling of claustrophobia, every morning when we gathered at the beginning of the day, at the end of the school day and on certain nights of the month. Probably the low ceilings. Most of us could actually jump and touch them, which was bizarre. But somehow, it served its purpose, keeping all of us contained in one space.

It was circular with no windows. Lined with oak and redwood beams, curved and ornately formed stone benches against the walls where our teachers sat, not that any students were allowed to relax. A singular tall tree directly in the middle, stout at the base with larger boughs leading to smaller branches leading to even thinner twigs, a living maze of wood and greenery, that grew up and out of the only opening in the room, an inner circle cut in the ceiling, letting in the cold fresh air so we didn't suffocate.

I looked around at the other guys that filled the room. All one hundred and eighteen of us, as young as Jordan at fourteen to old guys like me, already twenty. All the sons of alphas in our countries, states, provinces or territories of North America.

Well, technically there were a handful of daughters. A few girls were chosen as their regions next in line. But that was bullshit and everyone knew it. They were cool. I had no problems with them. But there's no way they'd ever be chosen as the Keystone Alpha. The one wolf who would be leader of every pack in North America for the next hundred years.

There was a rustle near the center of the room. No one would dare push forward. We all stood in our assigned wedges around the tree.

A third of us with our purple ties.

A third in yellow.

The last third in red.

Thankfully we shared the same generic uniform so we could all look like idiots. Khaki slacks and a white button up. Not too fancy, which made sense, since our school was in the middle of nowhere. I was resigned to it, though at home in Chicago, I dressed far nicer.

On the raised dais, a wooden platform in the base of the tree, surrounded by a fractal of branches, stood three people known to all in the room.

The Oracle, a man with long pale blonde hair and startling clear green eyes. Old, young, ageless. He didn't need a fancy robe or a wand or any of that shit. The Oracle radiated power even in his ripped jeans and graphic tshirt that showed the phases of the moon.

Our headmaster, Parker Cavanaugh, next to the Oracle. Cool and contained and in control as always. I admired him, though that wasn't the general opinion of the others. He was the alpha in New Orleans, here to guide the school for a very special reason. He radiated urban chic, lean and always immaculately dressed. Dark hair with blue eyes so light they were practically silver. He and the Oracle were speaking together quietly while the third person on the platform stood alone, aloof.