Below—if “below” holds meaning—Feramundi’s magma chamber glows as a tiny ember inside layers of translucent shapes: the frost-veiled shrine to the north, Umbramere’s hurricane-lassoed beach, Terrastria’s dune glass spires. Lines of turquoise light braid them together, then braid again with elderveins of starlight until a lattice forms—complex as snowflake geometry yet pulsing like a living heart.
I spin slowly, awed. Each intersection beats—ba-doom, ba-doom—synchronised with the bond I share with Carmilla. When the beat lands, prisms flare jade and amethyst; when it falls away, soft gold glimmers in their place. My chest thrums answer.
A roar, vast yet distant, rolls across the scaffolding. Narkarath. I tense, instincts ready for battle, yet there’s no threat in the sound. More a weary groan… the sigh of a titan settling after long rage. The woven lattice glows brighter where the dragon’s shade touches, strands wrapping around its colossal silhouette like a gentle sling. The beast’s eyes—once red furnace coals—dim to warm ember, then close. Slumber, not defeat. Peace I never imagined possible expands inside ribs.
A flicker ahead: Carmilla’s spirit shape drifts toward me, crystalline collar bright. She glides rather than walks, motion tracing graceful arcs through three planes at once—north, up, inwards. I move to her, shifting purely on intent, and meet her halfway. She smiles, and that simple curve seeds galaxies into orbit.
“You feel it?” she asks. Sound here carries as thought threaded with music.
“I’m soaking in it.” I extend a hand; she takes it, warm despite gem-skin coolness. Our fingers lock, the lattice around us echoing the gesture by tightening nodes.
A memory surfaces—my cub days, first successful shift. Muscles stretching, bones reforming, fur sprouting as I tested paws on snowy earth. That sensation returns full force, only broader. The lattice invites, offering raw possibility. I open myself and let the shift happen.
Fur bursts first, black and silver. Then feathers overlay shoulders; scales ripple down forearms. For a breath I am bear,eagle, and wolf together—three apex forms merged into one fluid essence. No bones grinding, no blood tasting of iron. Pure ease. The fusion stabilises into a shape of living moonlight with lupine agility, avian pinions, ursine heft. Power hums so steady it almost sings.
Carmilla laughs, voice light despite strain of crystal. “You wear the lattice well.”
I test wings, batting air made of color. “Might keep this for high hunts.” A grin stretches unfamiliar muzzle. I pull energy back, returning to ordinary skin and muscle, then shift again to full wolf, then to man. Each slide effortless. The lattice rewrites the cost of transformation, feeding my core with shared realm current. Guardians… Yes, that title the Council floated seasons ago now feels earned.
“Crystal?” I ask.
She lifts fingertips to throat. The growth still plates her neck, but I see no new spread. Instead, faint veins recede, smoothing harsh edges into graceful facets. “Dormant,” she answers. “It may remain, but expansion stops while the lattice sings.”
Relief dizzying as altitude spins me. I sweep her into a tight embrace. In return, she presses palm to center of my chest. A flare arcs from her hand through me into the woven boundaries. At once I feel remote responses: Remi’s storm laughter, Zale’s low serpentine rumble, Everest’s calm riverstone mindfulness, Isabelle’s earth-deep hum. All four weave threads into same loom, confirming structure holds.
A new glow brightens past Carmilla’s shoulder—nodes widening to reveal windows onto the real. Through one we view Twilight Forest citadel, fissure sealed by emerald vines already sprouting small buds. Through another, the freezing cliffs we crossed now drip with rising mist, no longer shrieking with time-dilation jolts. Whole landscapes jitter, then stabilisebeneath luminous webbing, like wounds knitting under patient hands.
Carmilla watches, eyes shining tears she doesn’t bother to hide. “For once, prophecy undersold beauty,” she whispers.
I tilt her chin, thumb brushing a droplet away. “For once, we get to build instead of patch holes.”
She nods, turns to exam a thicker strand leading off beyond vision. “Boundaries aren’t walls anymore, just rivers teaching travelers how to swim. That lattice will need caretakers.”
Caretaker. Guardian. The words settle on shoulders like a mantle shaped exactly to fit; no weight, just purpose.
A quiver ripples the web—tiny tremor signalling energy resettle. Far below, packs everywhere will feel it: wildlife mutated by bleed reverting to true form, crops once poisoned blooming again, children born to mixed realms weaving hybrid magics with no side-effects. My wolves might run across Umbramere sand at dawn and return to snow by dusk without bleeding power. The thought nearly drives me to howl.
“Ready to descend?” Carmilla asks.
“Soon. One task first.” I stretch left hand into void, summoning memories of every pack member lost. Yarrow, Elise, Jasper, the elders, cubs, scouts—faces swirl until tears sting. I release them in a songless hush. The lattice absorbs, casting constellations shaped like running wolves across astral sky. Their spirits thread boundaries, eternal sentinels.
Carmilla slips her right hand into mine. We stand together, heads tilted, while spectral wolves carve paths, leaving footfalls of starlight. They pause—look back—as if granting favor to new guardians. My throat thickens, but I breathe steady.
Then a hush falls across entire overlay. A colossal eye, lid half-closed in drowsy peace, opens long enough to gaze upon us. Narkarath—in true astral form—luminous dragon coiled around core of all realms. Its regard no longer burns; it warms, likedawn over fresh snow. A low rumble travels web: gratitude or promise, unclear, yet devoid of hunger.
“A lullaby for a god,” Carmilla murmurs.
“We’ll keep singing.”
The eye closes. The dragon curls tighter, restful. Threads thicken around its coils, reinforcing, not binding.
We exhale as one. “Now,” she says, and begins drifting downward along a silver ramp. I match pace. With each step, overlay thins until cave stone reappears. My body settles back onto leaden limbs, but energy still whispers through marrow. Wolves murmur as we re-solidify among them. Rowan’s brows rise at the subtle glow around us; Holt mutters something that sounds like blessed guardians before returning to log readings.
Carmilla’s crystal collar glints but no crack spreads. I test a minor shift—wolf ears flick, recede—barely costs a breath. She watches, approving.
We walk toward the rift site. It is a scar no longer; the basalt shows a fine seam threaded with tiny gems blinking in rhythm. Almost lovely.
“I could stare all night,” I admit.
