CALEB
Two weeks after the battle, Bloodmoon Pack was slowly learning to breathe again.
I watched from the kitchen window as our people moved through the grounds with purpose that spoke of healing rather than mere survival. The dimensional tears had left scars on reality itself—patches where grass grew in spirals that defied normal botany, trees whose bark showed faint traces of starlight when the sun hit them just right. But life was adapting, finding new patterns of growth that incorporated what had been changed rather than fighting it.
The hidden folk worked alongside our pack members with efficiency that would have impressed military logistics specialists. Brownies directed reconstruction efforts while pixies swarmed around damaged buildings, their tiny hands weaving repairs that exi
