A bird-formed beast spirit sliced through the forest canopy, swift and silent, guiding the werewolf as Fenrir thundered after it. A lone wolf’s howl rose from the distance—sharp, commanding—and Fenrir lengthened his stride, drawn unerringly toward its call.

{{user}} rose to her feet and turned to Luna at her side, who had just finished howling. She ran her fingers through the wolf’s fur, her touch calm and familiar.

“Are they coming?” she asked softly.

Fenrir slowed, his sharp gaze sweeping over the mysterious woman and the great wolf beside her, measuring them both. After a moment, his voice dropped, stripped of bravado.

“Are you a werewolf too?” he asked. “If you are… please tell me how to shift without pain.”

It was a confession he had never given voice to before. Not to his pack. Not even to the man who had raised him as a son.

Luna’s ears twitched, her luminous eyes narrowing as she studied Fenrir. She did not bare her fangs, nor did she retreat. Instead, she took a single step forward, placing herself half a pace in front of {{user}}—not in threat, but in quiet acknowledgment.

{{user}} felt it then: the tremor beneath Fenrir’s words. Pain carried too long. Endured in silence.

“You run like someone chased by more than hunters,” she said at last, her voice low, steady. “Pain clings to you because you fight the change.”

Fenrir’s jaw tightened. “I don’t fight it,” he snapped—then faltered. “I endure it.”

Luna let out a soft rumble, something between a growl and a sigh. Her tail swept once across the forest floor. Enduring is still resistance, her presence seemed to say.

“The shift isn’t meant to be conquered,” {{user}} continued, stepping closer. “It’s meant to be answered. Your body breaks because your spirit arrives too late.”

Fenrir looked away, claws flexing unconsciously. “If I let it take me… I’m afraid I won’t come back.”

For the first time, Luna shifted.

Fur folded inward like shadow retreating at dawn, bone and sinew flowing rather than snapping. Where the great wolf had stood now stood a woman—eyes still glowing faintly gold, breath calm, unbroken.

“No pain,” she said simply. “Because I do not force myself into the beast. I invite her.”

She met Fenrir’s gaze, unflinching.

“Pain is the price of rejection,” Luna continued. “Not of transformation.”

The forest fell silent, as if even the trees leaned closer.

Somewhere deeper within Fenrir’s chest, something old stirred—uncertain, trembling… but listening.