TYRA’S POV
The forest was deathly silent.
Under the pale moonlight, deep within the shadows of the ancient woods, I stood alone, surrounded by gnarled trees and whispering winds. The earth beneath me thrummed with power as I raised both hands to the heavens, eyes closed, face expressionless.
Dark smoke slithered from my body, curling into the air like writhing serpents. My voice rang out in an incantation, sharp and commanding, spoken in a language older than time itself. With every word, blood trickled from my eyes, but I didn’t flinch. Pain was part of the ritual. Pain was power.
My fingers split open, crimson pooling at my fingertips and dripping to the cold, damp ground. My face began to shift—slimmer, smoother. Beautiful. Ethereal. My golden hair shimmered with unnatural light, ca
