A hush fell over the Crimson Fang fortress. Once thick with the scent of blood and iron, the air now carried something else—something ancient, something undeniable.
Lyra stood in the center of the grand hall, her silver eyes burning like molten moonlight. Her body trembled, but not with fear. No—this was something more. This was power, raw and unshackled, coursing through every fiber of her being.
Then, it happened.
A sudden, searing heat spread through her veins. Her breath hitched as a deep, primal instinct clawed its way to the surface. It was different from before—sharper, stronger.
It was as if her wolf, once caged and chained, had finally broken free.
A snarl tore from her throat as her bones shifted, her muscles stretching and reshaping in a blur of movement. Her vision sharpened, and the world around her became clearer, brighter. Every sound, every breath, every heartbeat in the room thrummed against her heightened senses like a living drumbeat.
