The change began with a scream.
Not from the forest.
Not from the cliffs.
From within the pack itself.
Rovan felt it before he heard it — a rupture in the tether, sharp and unfamiliar. Not lunar. Not shadow.
Brighter.
Hotter.
He turned toward the eastern ridge where the Moonmarked gathered for night watch.
A flare exploded into the sky.
Not silver.
Gold-white.
Like a newborn star tearing open the dark.
Kaerin was already running when he reached the clearing.
At its center knelt Aric — one of the youngest Moonmarked. His crescent mark burned violently, no longer glowing in calm silver but blazing like molten metal.
The ground beneath him had blackened.
The air trembled.
“I can’t—” Aric gasped, claws digging into stone. “It’s not the moon—”
Rovan stepped forward carefully.
