The Cursed Ruins stood open to the moonless sky. Shattered walls surrounded dead trees, and the residue of dark magic left a rotten taste at the back of my throat.
I carried Elara through the crumbling archway and laid her on the central altar. Her pale face was hard to make out in the gloom. Then I drew the ritual dagger from my belt.
The rite required the Alpha's life force, carried in fresh blood. My hand shook hard enough to drag the cut across my palm crooked. Blood gathered along the line and fell onto the scarred altar.
One drop. Two. Three.
On the third, the air bent. Broken stone rose into its old place, trees regained their leaves, and the clearing returned to the night of the ambush.
My younger self fought a dozen assassins in the clearing.
I moved from one attacker to the
