The final pulse of the sigil faded into her body, sinking into her skin like stardust dissolving into twilight.
Emma floated weightlessly above the frost-covered summit, but she no longer felt like Emma. That name… it felt distant now, like a half-remembered dream whispered in a child's voice. It had served its purpose, had sheltered her, protected her when the world forgot who she truly was.
But now?
Now, she remembered.
Her silver claws curled as power surged through every cell of her body—not destructive, not ravenous, but ancient. A rhythm older than creation, a heartbeat that once ruled wild realms and celestial cycles. Her body trembled as the sigil etched on her forehead blazed with light and the howl of the World Wolf still echoed in her bones.
The sound wasn't just a call.
It was permission.
It was a welcome home.
She cried out—not in pain, but in release—as her bones shifted and her soul uncoiled.
