THE WORLD HELD its breath. Every eye in the sacred grove was fixed on the dais, where the last flicker of the curse, a sickly green flame, sputtered and died. The air, once thick with the oppressive weight of dark magic, shimmered with a new, vibrant energy. Selene, the subject of this desperate ritual, remained suspended in the ethereal light, her body a canvas of stillness against the swirling colors. The aetherial threads of the ritual, woven by powerful casters and bolstered by the raw, untamed magic of the pack, began to unravel.
As the last thread dissolved, a profound silence descended upon the grove. It was a silence so absolute it was deafening, a stillness that preceded a storm. It was in this quiet moment that Selene’s eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes, once a familiar shade of
