"Some things, once remembered, cannot be forgotten."
ALARIC
She hadn't moved.
Still leaning there in the doorway, wrapped in her blanket, watching him as the dawn light licked the sky behind her.
Alaric dragged a slow breath through his lungs, pulse steadying from the run.
Gods, she was beautiful like this—soft and sleepy, eyes glowing with something between curiosity and affection.
"Come in before you freeze," she murmured, stepping aside.
He obeyed, bare feet quiet on the worn wooden floor as he slipped past her into the warmth of the cottage. The fire was nothing but embers now, painting the room in dusky gold.
She closed the door behind him.
"You shifted," she said again, more softly this time. Like she was still trying to believe it.
"Aye," he replied, rubbing a hand through his damp hair. "First time I can remember doing it without it breaking me."
She tilted her head, studying him. "What changed?"
Alaric hesitated. Not because he didn't want to tell her—but because words felt too small for what had happened.
He sank down onto the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. "I had a dream," he began, voice low. "It wasn't like the others. This one... felt older. Like a memory instead of a vision."
She settled beside him, the blanket tugged close. Waiting. Listening.
"You were there," he said, glancing at her. "We were by a lake. The moon was high. You stepped from the water..."
His throat worked.
"You looked different. Not younger. Not older. Just... like you'd done it before. Like you knew me, down to my bones."
Her lips parted, a tiny breath escaping.
"And I—" he ran a hand over his mouth. "I knew you too. I knew the way you looked at me, the way your hand reached for mine. It wasn't new. It was something we'd done again and again, across lives I couldn't name."
He looked down at his hands. Large. Scarred. Still trembling faintly from the run.
"When I woke... it wasn't just the dream that stayed with me. It was this—" he tapped his temple, his chest. "This voice. Gentle. Certain. I heard it clearer than anything I've heard before."
He lifted his gaze to hers, something raw flickering behind his eyes.
"It told me to shift."
Isolde's breath caught.
"And you listened," she whispered.
He nodded once. "I didn't fight it. Didn't fear it. For the first time in my life... I trusted it."
She reached out, her fingers brushing his forearm—a light, grounding touch. "Your wolf."
"Aye." The word came rough. "For so long I thought it was broken in me. Or lost. Or... cursed."
He swallowed hard. "But this morning? It was there. Whole. Waiting for me."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The dawn light crept stronger through the windows, casting long pale stripes across the floor.
Finally, she asked softly, "How did it feel?"
Alaric's mouth curved in something close to awe.
"Like flying," he said. "Like finding a part of myself I'd grieved without knowing. The forest... it sang. Every sound, every scent—it was like the world had been muted until that moment. And then—" he gave a small laugh, shaking his head—"I couldn't stop running. I didn't want to."
Isolde smiled, something soft blooming behind her eyes.
"I saw you, when you came back," she said. "You looked... different. Lighter."
Alaric leaned back slightly, gaze holding hers.
"You're the reason it happened," he said quietly. "Since meeting you, it's like something's been shifting inside me. Pieces sliding into place. I don't know what it means yet. Only that... I don't want to lose it."
He reached out then, instinctive, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"Or you."
Her breath hitched. But she didn't pull away.
"You won't," she whispered. "Not if I have any say in it."
A warmth spread through his chest—steady this time. No longer a hollow ache.
He wasn't sure what path lay ahead of them. Or why the dream had come now, of all times.
But one thing was certain.
He'd heard his wolf.
And he would not let it go silent again.