The first thing Laila noticed was the silence. It wasn't an absence of sound, but a profound reorganization of it. The howl of the wind over the stone circle wasn't just noise; it was a textured song, carrying the scent of pine from miles away and the distant, damp earth scent of a burrowing vole. The crackle of the ritual torches was a symphony of heat and light. The world had shifted from a flat painting to a living, breathing, multi-dimensional sculpture.
The second thing she noticed was the body. Her body. The chronic, bone-deep ache of depletion was gone. In its place was a coiled, resilient strength, a thrumming vitality that felt both alien and right. Her senses were a flood, overwhelming and exquisite. She could smell the metallic tang of Xavier's blood on her tongue, the salt of
