The infirmary is similar to Jax's room.

Gloomy drapes crowd around flat cots, touching the tiled floors with their heavy weight. Metal trays and mobile desks, topped with black wheels and shiny handles, glint under the pale blue hues of surrounding lamps. Burnt touches of incense, from a recent prayer done by the priest of Luna here, surface in the stale and frigid atmosphere. With winter still ongoing, everyone is bound to be breathing in this sort of dry air for a while now.

"Alpha Jax," Lee, an omega and the priest of Luna within Grave Shadow, greets. He tucks his hands behind his back and bows his head of pale pink hair down, his gaze flickering away from the alpha's face as a sign of respect. "Good evening. Are we– are we ready for your usual procedure?"

There is a tremble in his query, a wobble to the lilt in his soft-spoken voice. Because even though Lee has assisted Jax in his daily procedures for a while now, he still hesitates in doing so.

Frankly, Lee is a coward. Most omegas tend to be, as is their nature. But it's not bad to be weak and scared. When one is weak and scared, they tend to find creative ways to counteract the obstacles that come with life.

For example, though Lee is far from being a fighter on the front lines, he is an essential asset to their community for a variety of other reasons—the main one being healing.

But Jax is not here to be cured of something.

No, he's here to be stronger. Better. Almost every single night, for the past ten years now, he's always been here. Right by a priest of Luna's side.

Glancing over, he watches the omega ready the preparations for what's to come.

"Wh-what would you prefer today, sir?" Lee asks, his hands scrambling to fetch the necessary tools onto a metal tray. "The hand or the shot?"

"Both."

"Ah." The fear-stricken look on Lee's dainty face shows that he wants to scream, but can't even muster the courage to do so. "O-okay, sir. Let me just..."

Jax knows what Lee wants to say, but he knows he won't say it to his face. He knows that by the end of the night, the priest will pull through and do as he says.

"Uh, sir... Hand first, please."

Lee knows that Jax prefers to do it himself, so he already has his gloves fastened on as he hands the alpha the handle of a silver sickle. The curved blade gleams underneath the blue hues of the lamps around them, reflecting off a fragment of Jax's stoic face.

Silver.

A werewolf's poison.

Grave Shadow is the only pack in existence, throughout the entire world, known for weaponizing the one thing that can kill them. For everyone knows that the easiest way to stop a werewolf's heart from beating is through silver. As long as silver even so much as grazes any of a werewolf's vitals, and as long as a priest of Luna cannot be there to help with their inherent healing abilities, it gets the job done.

Many, especially Blood Moon, have once criticized the hypocrisy behind their methods. While supplying themselves with modern artillery is one thing, adding silver to the mix is a whole other matter entirely. As of right now, Grave Shadow possesses an abundance of silver in their factories, daring to do so on their own pack grounds.

Their ancestors were once runts, outcasts, and misfits who banded together in order to harvest this poison, all to further their goals and ambitions. Because if they couldn't follow 'survival of the fittest', then they had to find other ways to bend the rules of nature in their favor. Now, they'd cultivated one of the most powerful communities in werewolf history.

Here Jax Sterling stands, existing as a prime example of their efforts. Here he is, a silver sickle hovering over his own right hand. And here he goes, as he deliberately slices open the center of his palm.

The silver sickle drops to the floor with a clatter. Droplets of blood trickle down his wrist, a broken rivulet of red racing across the inky canvas of his arm.

In just one moment, he can already feel the silver taking effect, surging forward with a paralyzing agent that slows any movements. His knees buckle, his hands shake, and his eyes start to glow with a menacing aura. All of his bodily instincts are kicking into overdrive, urging him to fight it off.

But he refuses.

If he wants to be stronger, be better, then he must accept the silver. He must build a tolerance to it, an immunity against it.

In a bleary blink, his vision dims as a wave of nausea nearly catches him. The world sways back and forth like a boat on turbulent seas. And even then, Jax still wears an impassive expression on his face. Appearing unbothered, unharmed.

Meanwhile, Lee stands stiff next to him, just as Jax has strictly instructed him to in the past. He can only witness what's happening for now, the alpha's unspoken command keeping him glued in one spot.

Lee gulps. "O-on a scale of one to ten, sir?"

"One," Jax blurts out, through gritted teeth. "This is nothing. Do the shot next."

"I th-think we need to wait a few more minutes, sir."

"I said do the shot now." A glare full of daggers is fixed in Lee's way after the prickly bite in his words. "I know I can handle it. How long do you think we've been doing this?"

Lee lets another moment drag on, a moment that stretches on like an eternity of agony, before doing as he's told. His brown eyes share a deep concern, but his hands are more obedient and fumble for a syringe.

Liquid silver.

"Incoming, sir..."

Something sharp triggers from within as a needle breaks through the skin of his tattooed shoulder. The act of the silver being injected into the bloodstream, directly into his veins, ignites a level of agony unlike any other. Tears are provoked as Jax keels over with a loud grunt, collapsing head first to the floor.

Still, Lee's feet remain in one spot, firm and unmoving, as he shakily asks, "Sc-scale number, sir?"

Foam threatens to overtake his mouth. Claws expand and grip the tiles. A winded breath is wrangled out from his lungs, visible in the form of a crushed growl. Spots shift and dance across his narrowed vision as he wavers to and from consciousness.

Everything fucking burns.

He wants to gouge his eyeballs out until there is nothing but darkness to drown in. He wants to scream until his vocal cords are shattered beyond repair. He wants to bleed until he's drenched the entire infirmary room in red.

Red. Red. Red.

"Five," he gasps, slamming a clenched fist near Lee's feet. "Give it a few more minutes."

"Sir..."

"Do it. That's an order."

Omegas like Lee know they can't refute an alpha's orders, especially from the top alpha of Grave Shadow himself. Pulling out a pocket watch, Lee times how long Jax can endure. The seconds seep through as the ticks of the pocket watch trickle in, testing him to his limits.

Jax clutches a hand over his rapidly beating heart, his eyes glowing with an even more intense shade of red. Veins protrude and web across blanched skin. Beads of sweat roll down the temples of his forehead. He's panting, his lungs backfiring, his stomach churning with what feels like boiling acid.

Before he can even predict when the coughs will arrive next, the all-familiar taste of iron shoots across his tongue and erupts from his mouth. A violent session of coughs racks his ribcage while he continues to choke on his own blood. Then, in a moment of shame, he vomits bloody bile. He had been hoping to keep that part in sooner.

Bending down on one knee, Lee hurries over to hoist him up onto the bed again. Towels are being shoved in Jax's way, to cover his mouth, but he doesn't take any.

"Sir–"

"Seven," Jax gargles out into the dim darkness instead. "M'fine."

The rest of Lee's response is an inaudible muffle as a shrill ringing stabs through his eardrums. And then he hears something else, amid the bloody coughs and clamor of rings.

A low buzzing sound rushes in, a gentle hum that coaxes his ears, as Lee's glowing hands are pressed against him—one on his chest and the other on his back. His fingers are enveloped with a comforting blue light as he instantly reverses the effects of everything gone wrong.

Jax's lungs are cleared, his coughs gone. The blood from his mouth vanishes without any traces left, not even a bitter aftertaste. As he draws in a fresh breath, Lee continues to work those magical hands around the rest of his shoulders until he's fully restored.

Once a sense of normalcy has been returned, Lee rechecks the status of Jax's vitals before letting out a sigh of relief.

Jax finally decides to grab a towel in order to wipe the rest of his bloodstains off. As he dabs his mouth and proceeds to clean up the rest of the mess on the floor, he asks, "How long?"

Lee double checks his pocket watch. "Ten minutes and fifty seconds."

A mad grin curves up his lips, a rare gloating gesture. "That's never been done before."

He did it. He broke not only his own record, but also the record of all the forefathers before him. All of the other top alphas from previous generations of Grave Shadow could never imagine something like this.

After years of committing to these risky procedures, almost every single night for over a decade of his life, he can withstand the effects of silver inside of him for a full ten minutes. The average werewolf from Blood Moon, or just about anywhere outside of Grave Shadow, can only tolerate a tiny bit of silver. If even a tiny bit of silver makes contact with any of their vitals, they have several seconds before instantaneous death.

"Alpha Jax..." In dramatic exhaustion, Lee buries his face in his hands and emits a stretched-out groan. "You're fucking insane."

Usually, if any other omega were to speak to him like that, they'd be signing up for a silver bullet to the head, a potential execution. But right now? Jax lets it slide because he isn't wrong.

"Say what you will, but you're in this with me for the long run," Jax says. "We don't stop until I'm dead. I trust you with my life because you're the most powerful priest here."

"Sir, do not try to flatter me, I am the only priest of Luna here. That is– that's besides the fucking point!" Whining, Lee drags his nails across his face in another fit of exasperation. "I don't know how many more of your suicidal requests I can take. Please, Alpha Jax, just stop while you're ahead. For the sake of my sanity."

"Lee."

For a second, Jax turns serious as he rises to his feet, standing from the floor with dirty towels in hand. As he disposes of his own blood and barf in a half-full laundry basket nearby, he turns to him with a stern look in his eyes.

"Um, yes, Alpha Jax?"

Jax deliberately pauses here as he stares the omega down with an intense glare.

Then, he suddenly smirks before telling him, "My strength is a priority over your sanity. Keep up the good work."

Lee's jaw is agape, completely and utterly gobsmacked, as he watches Jax turn his back to him.

"It's time for me to train now," Jax casually says, like he didn't just almost die earlier. He raises a hand over to Lee, dismissing him. "See you tomorrow night. Same thing, same time."

"Alpha Jax!" Lee screams in comedic disbelief, already fed up with his shit.

But before the priest can complain some more, Jax is already out the door and ready for another round of bruises. Because the only way he's going to continue beating someone like Cyrus is with non-stop, all-year-round, around-the-clock training.