**I once dreamed of a chaotic battle ground**, Silvia began, her voice soft but trembling with the weight of the memory, as if she were pulling it from some deep, hidden corner of her mind. Her eyes were distant, lost in the images she was describing, and I could see her hands fidgeting, fingers twisting together as she spoke. “I was a child, maybe three or four years old,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate, like she was trying to make sense of the dream even as she shared it. “I stood at the entrance of a burning house, frozen in place, watching as people—some in wolf form, some human—fought in a wild, desperate clash. I didn’t know what they were fighting for, or who they were fighting against. All I could see was smoke curling around them, thick and suffocating, and a darknes
