The winter creature that had been Reign wandered the frozen north for three months before something unexpected happened.
She remembered.
Not everything. Not even most things. But fragments. A face. A voice. The feeling of purpose beyond simple survival.
The direwolf's consciousness, which had completely consumed her identity, began to separate again. Not cleanly. But enough that something resembling Reign could think in words again.
Why?
Through the ancient bond, an answer came. Not in language. In understanding.
The transformation had been necessary. To survive the poison. To access power that could protect her wolves. But it was never meant to be permanent.
The direwolf had been waiting. For the crisis to pass. For the immediate threats to fade. For the moment when Reign could exi
