The morning sun hits the eastern grove, and the ancestral stones glow.
I stand at the edge of the courtyard, my left arm resting heavily in the carbon-fiber sling. The neuro-blockers have worn off, leaving a dull, rhythmic ache in my shoulder, but I barely notice it. My eyes are locked on the massive, moss-draped stone in the center of the grove.
The moss is no longer just green. It is a deep, iridescent emerald, veined with shimmering silver capillaries that pulse with a faint, rhythmic hum. The double-helix canopy Asher wove yesterday has settled into the stone, braiding the golden ley-lines of the pack with the silver structural energy of his new biology.
Elder Silas stands a few feet away, leaning heavily on his cane. His amber eyes are fixed on the glowing moss, his jaw set in a ha
