The days that followed seemed to move both too slowly and too fast.
Every morning, Elara woke with the same strange sensation humming beneath her skin—as if something inside her was counting down. Her body felt lighter, stronger, the lingering weakness from the wolfsbane finally gone. Yet with that strength came restlessness. Her wolf paced within her, no longer silent, no longer content to simply watch.
When Elara worked with the omegas, she noticed it most.
She lifted heavier crates without realizing it. Her senses sharpened—she could tell who was approaching by footstep alone, smell rain long before clouds gathered. The omegas noticed too, exchanging glances when Elara carried more than she should have, when her eyes glinted faintly in low light.
"You're changing," Lina said one afternoon, half-awed, half-worried.
Elara paused, holding a bundle of dried meat. "Is that bad?"
Lina shook her head quickly. "No. Just… noticeable."
That night, Elara dreamed of running.
Not as herself—not entirely. The forest stretched endless and silver beneath a full moon, her paws striking earth that felt familiar in a way words could never explain. She ran alongside shadows—wolves she couldn't name but somehow knew. Their howls rose together, echoing against the mountains.
When she woke, her heart was racing, her sheets tangled around her legs as if she had truly moved in her sleep.
Lyra, she whispered.
Her wolf was already awake.
You dreamed it too, Lyra said.
Elara swallowed. Was that… us?
A pause. Then: Almost.
The forest glowed silver beneath the full moon, alive with motion and sound.
Elara stood apart from it all.
She watched from the edge of the woods, half-hidden behind the dark trunks of ancient pines, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. From here, she could see the clearing where the Blackridge pack gathered—dozens upon dozens of wolves standing shoulder to shoulder, laughter and reverence woven together in the air.
She did not step closer.
She did not belong to them.
Not yet.
The first shift rippled through the clearing, raw and powerful. Bodies bent, fur burst forth, bones realigned with sharp, intimate sounds. One by one, wolves emerged where people had stood, their coats catching the moonlight like living shadows and silver flame.
Elara pressed a hand to her chest.
Her heart ached—not with envy, but with something deeper. Longing. Memory. A sense of standing just outside a door she had been circling her entire life.
They ran.
The pack surged forward as one, paws thundering against the earth, howls lifting to the sky in a chorus so powerful it made her breath hitch. The sound rolled across the mountains, ancient and alive, as Blackridge reclaimed its land beneath the moon.
Elara stayed where she was, watching until the last wolf disappeared into the forest.
Only when the echoes faded did she turn away.
Her steps were slow as she made her way back toward the healer's wing, the stone paths quiet now, abandoned for the night's sacred run. The moon followed her, pale and watchful overhead.
You stayed, Lyra said quietly.
Elara swallowed. It wasn't my place.
There was no argument—only a stirring.
A heat bloomed suddenly in her chest.
Elara faltered.
Her breath hitched, pain flaring sharp and unexpected, slicing through her ribs like lightning.
"Lyra—?" she gasped.
The answer came not in words, but in force.
Her wolf surged forward without warning.
Elara cried out as her knees buckled, her body collapsing onto the cold earth. Agony tore through her—bones grinding, muscles stretching beyond what she thought possible. She clawed at the ground, fingers digging into dirt as the world tilted violently.
"I—I didn't expect this," she sobbed, panic rising. "I'm not ready—"
You are, Lyra insisted, fierce and unyielding. The moon chose now.
Elara screamed as the pain peaked, her spine arching, breath tearing from her lungs.
"Elara!"
The shout cut through the night, sharp with fear.
Kael.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward her. She barely registered him dropping to his knees beside her, strong arms gathering her trembling body against his chest.
"I've got you," he said, voice rough, urgent. "You're not alone. Breathe, Elara. Stay with me."
She clutched at him blindly, nails digging into his cloak as another wave of pain crashed through her. Kael held her firmly, grounding, his forehead pressing against her temple.
"Let it happen," he murmured. "Don't fight it."
Her scream broke into a sob.
Then the pain began to change.
The tearing sensation softened into heat, into movement that felt… right. Fur spilled across her skin like moonlight made solid, pale silver threaded with soft ash. Her limbs reshaped, strength flooding into her veins, her senses exploding outward—every scent, every sound, every pulse of the land rushing into her awareness.
When it ended, the world was still.
Elara stood on four paws.
She inhaled sharply, the forest filling her lungs, rich and alive. The ground felt different beneath her—solid, familiar, as though she had always known it this way.
She lifted her head.
Kael was standing in front of her, frozen.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
His eyes traced her form slowly, reverently. She was tall and sleek, her fur luminous beneath the moon, silver-white with elegant streaks of ash along her spine and flanks. Her eyes—still hers—glowed softly, ancient and bright.
Kael's breath left him in a quiet exhale.
"She's… beautiful," his wolf whispered inside him, pride swelling so fiercely it stole his breath.
Elara tilted her head, unsure, newly aware of every movement.
Lyra? she asked.
Her wolf was radiant.
This is us, Lyra said, awe and certainty intertwined. And there—
Elara's gaze locked onto Kael.
Mate.
The word rang through her like a bell struck by the moon itself.
Without hesitation, Lyra stepped forward, paws carrying her closer to him, drawn by instinct older than reason. Elara felt it too—the pull, the rightness, the undeniable truth settling into her bones.
Kael's chest rose sharply.
He took a step back—not in rejection, but in reverence.
Then he shifted.
His transformation was powerful and controlled, dark fur spilling over muscle, his wolf massive and formidable, eyes burning silver as they met hers. Pride rolled off him in waves—not possession, not dominance—but fierce, unquestioning devotion.
They stood facing each other beneath the moon, two wolves bound by something the world had tried to tear apart.
Then Kael turned and ran.
Elara did not hesitate.
She ran after him, her paws striking the earth in perfect rhythm, strength singing through her veins. Together, they surged into the forest, racing through ancient trees and winding paths, over ridges and streams, reclaiming the land beneath the moon's watchful eye.
For the first time in her life, Elara did not feel lost.
She felt found.