Awakening

The pack house felt warmer that evening — softer somehow. Laughter floated through the halls, low and unguarded, a rare sound after months of strain. Emry should have felt comfort in it.

Instead, she felt restless.

From her seat near the window, she watched her brother at the long table, head tilted toward Lira as they talked quietly. The firelight painted golden edges on both of them, their voices blending in an easy rhythm that made something in her chest tighten.

Lira smiled at something Eastin said — the kind of smile that came from old memories, not obligation. Eastin’s answering grin was brief, but real, the worry lines around his eyes softening in a way Emry hadn’t seen since their parents vanished.

And she couldn’t even be jealous.

If anything, she was relieved. Lira brought him peace. She’d seen it before, in fleeting glances and shared silences neither of them admitted to. It wasn’t love yet, but it could be. And for the first time, Emry thought maybe the Moon Goddess wasn’t done writing stories for any of them.

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Something stirred deep in her chest — that same hum, stronger now, vibrating through her bones. She pressed a hand against her sternum, exhaling slowly. It didn’t fade this time.

Her gaze drifted toward the window. The forest beyond was cloaked in dusk, the horizon blushing violet and gold. Night was falling.

And yet…

Her heart skipped.

The moon was missing.

The sky, normally alive with its silver glow by now, lay empty — a stretch of dark velvet scattered with stars, but no moon among them. Not even the faint crescent of a waning phase.

Her fingers tightened around the window ledge. The new moon wasn’t due for weeks. The absence was wrong. Unnatural.

The hum swelled.

It wasn’t painful — not exactly — but it pulled at her, deep and irresistible, the way the tide obeys the sea. Her breath caught as her vision blurred for a moment, the world narrowing to that single, invisible thread tugging her toward the trees.

Something called her name.

Not in words, but through feeling.

Her pulse quickened.

Without thinking, she slipped from her chair. The sounds of the pack house dulled, fading to a muffled echo as she crossed the hall and stepped out into the cold night air. She didn’t grab a jacket. Didn’t call to anyone. The pull drowned out reason, drawing her toward the forest’s edge like a tide she couldn’t fight.

The hum thrummed through her skull, her heart syncing with it. Each step grew lighter, surer, until the noise of the world fell away completely.

Branches brushed her arms as she passed, the air sharp with pine and frost. Somewhere behind her, unseen, a shadow followed — silent, cautious, golden eyes tracking her every step.

Braxton.

But she didn’t know that.

She only knew the pull.

The trees opened into the clearing by the lake — her favorite place since childhood. The air here always felt different, cleaner, older, as though the Moon Goddess herself had left fingerprints on the water.

Except tonight, the sky above it was still empty.

No moon. No light. Only reflection.

Emry’s breath trembled as she stepped closer to the shore.

The water glimmered faintly, though no light touched it. Ripples spread across the surface, and in their wake, silver began to bloom.

A reflection.

Her eyes widened.

There — deep within the water’s glassy depths — shone a perfect, luminous full moon.

It shouldn’t have been there. It couldn’t have been. Yet the reflection glowed brighter with each heartbeat, casting light that painted her skin in liquid silver. The hum roared through her chest, filling her lungs with heat and air that wasn’t air.

She fell to her knees at the edge of the lake, gasping as pain and light intertwined — not sharp, but all-consuming.

“Emry—”

Braxton’s voice broke through the trees, low and desperate, but she couldn’t answer. Her vision fractured into shards of light and shadow, the world dissolving into sound and energy.

The pull became a surge.

She felt her bones stretch and crack, her skin shimmer with silver fire. Her breath caught as heat rippled through her, not burning — transforming.

The reflection in the water blazed.

And then she was gone.

Where Emry had knelt now stood a wolf — radiant white, fur glowing with threads of moonlight, eyes burning a vivid violet that mirrored the lake’s reflection.

Braxton froze at the treeline, the breath stolen from his lungs. The light of her awakening wrapped the clearing, bright enough to chase the shadows back into the woods.

His wolf bowed low inside him, reverent.

The hum in the air settled into silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was full — sacred.

Emry turned her head toward him, the violet of her gaze catching the silver glow. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at one another — two halves of something ancient recognizing itself at last.

Then the light faded. The reflection dimmed. The moon in the water winked out.

Only her soft, steady breathing remained — a wolf reborn beneath an absent sky.

And for the first time in his life, Braxton understood what it meant to truly worship.