The air in the garden was too perfect. That was the first thing I noticed.
In Aethelgard, the air always smelled of something—damp earth, pine needles, or the metallic tang of approaching snow. But here, the air was like a dream. It was sweet and still, as if the world were holding its breath.
I sat on the grass, my fingers digging into the green blades. They felt real. I looked at my hands. The violet veins were gone. The scars from the Alpha’s punishments were gone. My skin was smooth, tanned by a sun that felt warm and kind, not harsh like the Moon Goddess’s light.
"Silas?" I whispered.
He was still sitting next to me, staring at his own palms. He looked so different without the shadows. Without the glow of the stars in his skin, he looked like a man in his late twenties. He was han
