Two years after baby Hope learned control, peace reigned. The pack thrived. The seven Darks existed beautifully. Everything seemed perfect.
Baby Hope was three years old now. Walking. Talking. Existing with power that was gentle. Controlled. Loving. She used her abilities carefully. Thoughtfully. Only when necessary. Only when helpful. Only when love required it.
She had become exactly what we taught her to be. A being of immense power paired with immense restraint. A child who could reshape reality but chose not to unless absolutely needed. A force that protected instead of threatened. That loved instead of being controlled. That existed beautifully instead of dangerously.
The pack loved her. Everyone loved her. She was their hope. Their future. Their proof that unprecedented things co
