The snow fell gently over Crescent Ridge like the sky had finally remembered how to be kind. The forest was quiet in a way that felt sacred. Every tree carried a soft shimmer of silver threaded through its branches, the last remnants of Heartline magic settling into the world with the patience of slow dawn.
I walked through the pack clearing with slow steps, breathing in the scent of pine and winter hearths. My mark glowed faintly beneath my sleeve, warm rather than burning. Alive, but no longer screaming. Balanced in a way it had never been.
The world had survived.
I had survived.
We had survived.
The packhouse loomed ahead, its windows lit with the soft warmth of candles. Wolves whispered as I passed, but their voices held awe rather than fear. Some bowed their heads. Some smiled. S
