Silence. Cold, echoing silence.
Rhea stood motionless, breath stolen by the weight of the moment. The world around her had dissolved—the mossy forest floor, the shrine, her packmates—gone. In their place, a world born of memory.
This clearing was familiar, yet untouched by time. The trees shimmered with silver veins, the air thick with reverence. Rhea turned slowly, her heart thudding. The altar stood at the center, pristine and whole, not broken and moss-covered like before. It glowed faintly, its surface etched in glowing runes she couldn’t understand but somehow felt.
Kneeling before it was a child. A girl.
Rhea’s breath hitched when she recognized her own face.
A smaller version of herself—barefoot, hands resting on the altar stone, head bowed in submission or prayer. Surrounding
