The morning after our first contact with The Unnamed, I found Thorne on the sanctuary's eastern wall, weaving emotional barriers with the focus of someone trying not to think.
"Couldn't sleep either?" I asked.
He didn't turn. "Every time I close my eyes, I feel it. Like standing next to an ocean that's learning it can walk on land." His hands moved in complex patterns, fear and determination crystallizing into translucent shields. "My family knew this day would come. Seven hundred years of preparation, and we're still not ready."
"Tell me about the Vega line."
He finally looked at me, and I saw the weight he carried. "We were created alongside the Severing. Not to fight The Unnamed, but to... maintain the architecture of reality. Every generation, a few of us manifest the ability to weave emotions into actual structure. But the gift comes with knowledge—genetic memories of why the Severing happened."
"And why did it happen?"
"Because The Unnamed was winning." He turned back to his work. "Not through malice. Through love. It loved everything so much it was pulling all consciousness back into itself. The universe was returning to a single point of infinite feeling. Beautiful and terrible and absolutely final."
A small hand tugged my shirt. Luna stood there, still in her nightgown, grass stains on her bare feet.
"The walls won't work," she informed Thorne seriously. "The hungry friend doesn't come from outside. It comes from the spaces where we're already together."
He studied my daughter with those layered eyes. "You're right. But we build them anyway. Sometimes the act of building teaches us what we're really trying to protect."
"Oh." Luna considered this. "Like when I draw pictures of dreams. The pictures aren't the dreams, but drawing helps me remember what they felt like."
"Exactly." For the first time since arriving, Thorne smiled. It transformed his face, and I caught a glimpse of who he might have been before carrying his bloodline's burden. "Would you like to learn to build with feelings? Your mother has the power, but you... you have something special."
Luna looked to me for permission, and I nodded. Whatever came next, she needed teachers who understood gifts that broke reality's rules.
"First," Thorne said, kneeling to her level, "we need to talk about what emotions really are. Not just feelings, but the threads that connect everything that can experience. Your gift lets you see those threads. Mine lets me weave them. Together..."
He pulled a single thread of joy from Luna's excitement, visible as golden light between his fingers. Then another from my protective love, silver-bright and fierce. He wove them together, and where they touched, a flower bloomed from nothing. Not illusion. Not transformation. Creation from pure feeling.
"Together," he finished, offering the impossible flower to Luna, "we can make new things. But every creation requires sacrifice. Every structure demands its price."
"What price?" I asked, though I suspected I knew.
He stood, and I saw the truth in the premature silver of his hair, the depth of his seemingly young eyes. "Time. Each weaving takes days, sometimes years from the weaver. My grandmother built a cathedral from grief and wonder. She aged fifty years in five minutes and called it a bargain."
"But you're teaching Luna—"
"Because she's different." He watched my daughter examine the flower with the intensity of someone seeing the universe's secret mechanics. "True Empaths don't just feel emotions—they generate them. She could weave without losing anything. In theory."
A commotion near the training grounds interrupted us. Raised voices, the sound of struggle. We ran toward the noise, Luna clutching her impossible flower.
We found chaos. Two groups of wolves faced off in a circle of torn earth—sanctuary children on one side, Marcus's newcomers on the other. At the center, Kai's shadow writhed independently while a Silver Moon wolf tried to contain it with raw dominance.
"You can't command shadows!" Mira shouted, plants growing wild around her feet in response to her distress. "That's not how gifts work!"
"In a proper pack—" the Silver Moon wolf began.
"This ISN'T a pack!" Teryn's anger-amplification gift was leaking, making everyone's emotions spike. "This is sanctuary! For the broken! The rejected! Not for perfect pack wolves who got scared!"
Marcus stood at the edge, and I watched him freeze. His newly awakened empathy meant he felt everyone's pain, everyone's anger, and instead of acting, he just... stopped. Paralyzed by the weight of conflicting emotions.
But Virelle moved. The ancient predator flowed between the groups like smoke, and her presence alone made everyone step back.
"Children," she said, and somehow made it sound fond rather than condescending. "You're all so young. Even you, Darius," she added to the Silver Moon wolf, who had to be forty. "Young and stupid and wasting energy on the wrong enemy."
"We're not enemies," Luna said, appearing between the groups with that uncanny ability to be where she needed to be. She still held Thorne's flower, and its impossible beauty seemed to calm the space. "We're scared. When people are scared, they make walls out of anger."
She walked to Kai, whose shadow was still acting out. "It's okay. Shadows get scared too. They remember when dark was just dark, not something separate from light."
The shadow settled at her words, and I felt something shift in the watching crowd. Luna had that effect—making the impossible seem simple, the frightening seem lonely.
"Before the Severing," Virelle said suddenly, her voice carrying across the courtyard, "children like her were called Harmonizers. They could settle disputes by their mere presence. The Unnamed particularly loved them because they proved unity was possible without force."
Everyone turned to stare at her. Even I hadn't heard this term before.
"They were also," she continued, studying Luna with an expression I couldn't read, "the first to disappear when The Unnamed began pulling consciousness back. Children make the best bridges because they haven't learned that some doors should stay closed."
The weight of that settled over us. Luna just smiled and offered the impossible flower to Kai, who took it with trembling hands.
"I don't want to disappear," she said matter-of-factly. "I want to help everyone remember that different and together aren't opposite things. The hungry friend gets confused about that too."
A shiver ran through the crowd at her casual mention of The Unnamed. But before anyone could respond, Thorne's barriers flared brilliant white.
"Something's coming," he said. "Something that feels like my own blood, but... wrong. Twisted."
Through the tree line, shadows moved with purpose. Not wolves. Not entirely human. As they emerged, I understood Thorne's reaction.
They wore the Vega features—those distinctive eyes, that particular way of holding power—but their gifts had been... inverted somehow. Where Thorne wove reality from emotion, these figures seemed to unweave it, leaving gaps in the world where they walked.
"The Forgotten's hunters," Virelle breathed. "Vega children who chose forgetting over feeling. They've come for your bloodline, Thorne. And I suspect they're very interested in what you've been teaching our little Harmonizer."
The lead hunter stepped forward, and reality bent around her like heat mirages. Where Thorne's gift built, hers consumed—I could feel the emotional void she carried, a hunger different from Virelle's but no less terrifying.
"Brother," she said, and her voice was empty of everything that made sound human. "You've been teaching abominations. Come home before you're too broken to fix."
"Senna?" Thorne's shields flickered with shock. "But you were—you chose the academy. You wanted to preserve our history, not—"
"I chose survival." She tilted her head, studying Luna with eyes that held no warmth. "That child carries frequencies that shouldn't exist. Before the Severing, things like her were called Harmonizers. They always disappeared first, pulled back into The Unnamed's embrace because they were already half-bridge."
Luna stepped closer to me, but her voice remained steady. "You're scared I'll disappear like the others did. But I'm different. I have roots now." She gestured to all of us—sanctuary children, new wolves, even Virelle. "The hungry friend can't take me without taking all of us. And we're too many to swallow."
"Naive child," another hunter said. "The Unnamed doesn't need to take you. It just needs you to keep teaching it. Every lesson brings it closer to understanding how to walk among us without destroying us. And when it learns enough..."
"When it learns enough, what?" I challenged. "It becomes like us? Isn't that better than it remaining alien and hungry?"
Senna's empty laugh chilled the air. "You think teaching a force that predates existence to be human will save you? We taught a wolf to speak once. It used its first words to better coordinate the hunt."
The stand-off stretched taut. I felt powers gathering—Thorne's protective rage, Virelle's coiled hunger, the sanctuary children ready to defend their home. But Marcus remained frozen, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of the moment.
"You came for me," Thorne said finally. "Take me. Leave the others."
"No," Luna said firmly. "Family doesn't get traded. Even scared family that chose forgetting." She looked at Senna with those impossible eyes. "The hungry friend remembers you too. It says you used to sing while you wove. It misses your songs."
Senna flinched as if struck. For just a moment, something flickered in her empty eyes—memory? Pain? Then the void reasserted itself.
"Take them all," she commanded. "The Convergence Point awaits."
But they didn't move to attack. Instead, Senna raised her hand, and reality... stuttered. The world forgot how to hold us. Gravity became a suggestion. Bonds between molecules questioned their purpose.
"Stop!" Virelle commanded, and for the first time since I'd known her, she unleashed her true power. Not the parasitic feeding we'd seen, but something older. She spoke a word that predated language, and reality remembered itself with a snap that left everyone gasping.
"Impossible," Senna breathed. "That's the First Tongue. Only the original architects—"
"I was there, child," Virelle said, and suddenly she seemed ancient beyond measure. "When your ancestors first learned to weave reality, I was already old. I chose to forget my nature and become a predator. But seeing this child—" she gestured to Luna, "—reminds me why we fought so hard to preserve choice in the first place."
Luna walked forward, past all our protections, and held out Thorne's impossible flower to Senna. "The hungry friend says forgetting hurts more than remembering. Even when remembering burns."
The flower touched Senna's hand, and she screamed—not pain but worse. The sound of someone remembering how to feel after choosing numbness. Her void-gift cracked, leaking emotions like blood from a wound.
"What did you do?" another hunter demanded, reaching for Luna.
But Teryn's gift flared, and their anger turned inward, making them stumble. Kai's shadow wrapped protective darkness around Luna. The twins shared their calm like a blanket over the chaos. The sanctuary children had learned to work as one, their broken gifts becoming something beautiful in unity.
"We're teaching each other," Luna said simply. "Just like we're teaching the hungry friend. How to be many and one without losing ourselves."
The other hunters moved to help Senna, but she raised a trembling hand to stop them. Tears—actual tears—streamed down her face as decades of suppressed emotion crashed through her barriers.
"It burns," she whispered. "Thorne, how do you stand it? Feeling everything?"
"You learn," he said softly, approaching his sister with careful steps. "You learn that feeling is what makes us real. Even when it hurts."
"The Convergence Point," Senna gasped out between sobs. "They're gathering all the Vega bloodline. The Forgotten believe... they believe if they unite the fragments in one place, they can build a Reality Anchor. Lock existence in its current state forever."
"Why?" I demanded. "What are they so afraid of?"
Another hunter answered, his voice hollow. "The children. More are being born like yours. Harmonizers who hear The Unnamed's song without fear. Who teach it as it teaches them. The Forgotten remember what happened before—when the boundaries failed, the Harmonizers were the first to dissolve. Not taken. They chose unity over separation."
I pulled Luna closer, but she patted my hand reassuringly. "I won't dissolve, Mama. I have too many people to love here."
"That's what they all said," the hunter continued. "Right before they walked into The Unnamed's embrace and became part of its song forever."
Senna struggled to her feet, still clutching the impossible flower. "We have to warn them. The Convergence Point—it's not just to build an Anchor. They want to use the gathered power to sever the connection between The Unnamed and the new Harmonizers. Cut the bridge before—"
Reality tore. Not gently like before, but with violence that made everyone stagger. Through the rip stepped a figure that made even Virelle take a step back.
Through the rip stepped not a fighter, but a child. Maybe twelve years old, with Vega eyes that held too much knowledge and clothes that looked like they'd been worn through several realities.
"Found you," she gasped, then collapsed.
Thorne caught her before she hit the ground. "She's burning up. This is impossible—she's using the gift constantly. No Vega can sustain that without—"
"Without becoming something else," Senna finished, her voice still raw from reawakened emotion. "That's my daughter. Lira. I sent her away when I chose forgetting, told her to hide where the Forgotten couldn't find her."
"She's been running through realities," Virelle observed, studying the child with clinical interest. "Look at her hands—the fingerprints keep changing. She's not fully anchored anymore."
Luna knelt beside the unconscious girl. "She's like a song that forgot its melody. Still music, but lost."
We carried Lira inside, the hunters following uncertainly. Their mission had fractured the moment Senna remembered how to feel. I noticed Marcus helping—silent, automatic movements that required no emotional investment. His paralysis had shifted into mechanical function.
In the infirmary, Selene emerged from her eternal post with the sleeping children. "A reality swimmer. I haven't seen one in centuries. She's been using dimensional friction to stay ahead of pursuit."
"Can you help her?" Senna's voice broke on the question.
"Perhaps. But she needs an anchor. Something to remind her which reality is home." Selene looked at Luna thoughtfully. "A Harmonizer could sing her back. If she's willing."
"I'll try," Luna said immediately. "But I need help. Mama, will you hold the feeling? Thorne, can you weave it? And..." She looked at Senna. "She needs her mother's voice. Even if it hurts."
We formed a circle around Lira's flickering form. I'd never felt anything like it—holding pure emotion while Thorne shaped it and Luna directed it. But it was Senna's voice that broke my heart.
"Lira, sweet girl," she whispered, her words cracking with years of suppressed love. "I'm sorry I sent you away. I thought forgetting would keep you safe. But you remembered anyway, didn't you? Kept running through realities, looking for home."
Luna began to hum—not a melody but something deeper. The sound of connection itself. Thorne wove our combined emotions into visible threads, wrapping them gently around his niece. The girl's form solidified slowly, like a radio finding its frequency.
But when Lira's eyes opened, they weren't quite right. One showed the here and now. The other reflected somewhere else—shifting visions of different realities sliding past like cards in a deck.
"Mom?" Her voice came from multiple distances at once. "I can see you. All the versions of you. The one who forgot. The one who's remembering. The one who might have been if you'd chosen differently."
Senna sobbed, pulling her daughter close despite the wrongness of her presence. "I'm here, baby. This version. This choice."
"She's anchored," Selene said quietly, "but not fully returned. She's been swimming too long. Part of her will always see the spaces between."
Luna studied Lira with curious sympathy. "You're like me but sideways. I feel all the feelings. You see all the seeings."
"It's loud," Lira whispered. "So many realities. So many choices. How do you pick just one to live in?"
"You learn to focus," Selene said gently. "Like looking through rain—you can see all the drops or the view beyond. It takes practice."
Marcus, who'd been silent throughout, suddenly spoke. "What did you see when you looked at me?" His voice was rough, uncertain.
Lira's mismatched eyes found him. "A man standing at the same crossroads over and over. In most realities, you choose fear. In a few, you choose love. In one..." She paused, blinking hard. "In one, you never rejected them. Luna grows up calling you Papa. Aria never learns to be steel. Everything is softer but smaller."
The words hit like physical blows. I saw Marcus flinch, saw him want to run but force himself to stay. Progress, maybe. Or just fresh torture.
"Don't," I said quietly. "Don't show us what might have been. We need to live with what is."
But Senna was staring at her daughter with wonder and horror. "You've been watching us? All this time, seeing every choice we didn't make?"
"I had to," Lira whispered. "It was the only way to remember you loved me once. In some reality, you always chose love over forgetting."
The other hunters shifted uncomfortably. Their leader's emotional awakening was spreading—I could feel their void-gifts wavering, remembering what it meant to feel. One of them turned and simply walked away, unable to maintain the forgetting in the face of so much raw truth.
Luna took Lira's hand carefully. "Want to see my drawings? They're not as real as what you see, but they're still true."
The two girls wandered off together—one who felt too much, one who saw too much, finding balance in their shared strangeness.
Senna watched them go with naked longing. "I've lost years. She grew up in the spaces between realities because I was too afraid to feel pain."
"You're feeling it now," Thorne said, not unkindly. "That's what matters."
"Is it?" She looked around at our makeshift sanctuary—wolves learning new gifts, children teaching cosmic forces about friendship, ancient predators remembering they were once protectors. "The Convergence Point still waits. The Forgotten still gather our bloodline. They'll come for Lira now that she's anchored. For all of us."
"Then we prepare," I said. "But not by forgetting or running. By building something stronger than their fear."
Through the window, I watched Luna showing Lira her drawings while reality rippled gently around them. Two impossible children, proving that broken didn't mean worthless.
"The Unnamed watches them constantly," Virelle observed. "Two children who shouldn't exist, being exactly what they are. It's learning more from their friendship than from all our careful lessons."
Marcus finally found his voice again. "What do we do when it decides it's learned enough?"
"Hope," Senna said softly, still staring at her daughter, "that we've taught it the right things."
The morning sun climbed higher, illuminating a sanctuary that had become something none of us expected. Not just a refuge for the rejected, but a school for impossible things.
Including ourselves.
The rest of that day passed in strange, quiet moments.
I found myself organizing sleeping arrangements for our swelling numbers—eighty wolves trying to coexist in a space built for thirty. The sanctuary children had claimed the main building, protective of their first real home. Marcus's wolves set up camps in the surrounding forest, close enough for safety but maintaining the illusion of independence.
"We need more greenhouses," Mira informed me, dirt under her fingernails from expanding the gardens. "The plants say they're happy to feed everyone, but they need more room to grow."
Practical problems. Almost a relief after cosmic ones.
Near the training ground, Virelle worked with the newly awakened, her teaching style unexpectedly patient. "Power is like breath," she explained to a young wolf whose gift of sensing metals kept making her sick. "You don't hold it or push it. You let it flow through you."
I watched Senna hover near the edges, unable to decide if she belonged with the hunters who'd come with her or the family she'd abandoned. The impossible flower Thorne had made still rested in her hand, wilting but refusing to fully die.
"She's lost," Marcus said, appearing beside me. He'd been doing that—showing up to observe, never quite participating. "Between who she was and who she's becoming."
"Sounds familiar," I said, not looking at him.
He flinched but didn't retreat. Progress, maybe. "I keep thinking about what Lira said. About the reality where I chose differently."
"Don't." The word came out harsher than intended. "That way lies madness. We can only live in this choice."
Through the window of the main building, Luna and Lira sat together, drawing. Luna's pictures remained grounded in this reality while Lira's shifted and changed, showing the same scene from infinite angles. Watching them, I felt The Unnamed's presence like warm breath on the back of my neck—curious, patient, learning.
That evening, we gathered for our first communal meal. Eighty wolves trying to share space, trust, and venison stew. The sanctuary children sat in their usual clusters, but I noticed small shifts—Kai's shadow playing with a newcomer's young daughter, the twins sharing their calm with an anxious Silver Moon wolf.
"Tomorrow, we start integrated training," I announced. "Sanctuary children teaching control. New wolves sharing pack knowledge. Everyone learning from everyone."
"Even the hunters?" someone asked, gesturing to Senna's group.
"Especially them," I said. "They know what we're facing at the Convergence Point. We need that knowledge."
Senna stood awkwardly. "We... I... was sent to retrieve Vega bloodline members. But after today..." She looked at Lira, who was teaching several young wolves how to see reality's layers without getting lost. "The Forgotten's plan is wrong. Locking reality in place won't save us. It'll just make us prisoners in amber."
"Pretty speech," one of her hunters said coldly. "But betraying the Forgotten means death. You've doomed us all."
"No," Virelle interjected, her smile sharp. "She's given you a choice. Die certain and empty, or live uncertain and full. I know which one makes the better story."
Luna stood up, small but commanding attention. "The hungry friend wants everyone to know something. It says thank you for teaching it that families can be chosen. It didn't know that before. It thought family was only same-from-same. But we're all different and still together. That's new."
The weight of cosmic attention pressed down, then lifted. Message delivered.
In the corner, Marcus helped serve food without meeting anyone's eyes. Still functional but not engaged. Still learning how to exist in the space between cowardice and courage.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. But tonight?
Tonight we ate together, all eighty of us, building something that had never existed before.
One meal at a time.
After dinner, I found Thorne on the roof, weaving moonlight into something that might have been a map or might have been a memory.
"Can't sleep?"
"Vega curse," he said without looking up. "We see the framework too clearly. Makes rest difficult when you know reality is just consensus wearing a costume."
I sat beside him, watching his work. "Your sister—will she stay?"
"I don't know. Seven years of chosen numbness versus one day of remembering. The forgetting is easier." He paused, fingers still moving through light. "But Lira needs her. And need has a way of making us braver than we think we are."
Below, I could see Luna and Lira in their makeshift tent, still awake. Luna was teaching Lira a clapping game, but each clap shifted through different versions—the game as it was, as it could be, as it never would be. Somehow, they found rhythm in the chaos.
"Your daughter," Thorne said carefully, "she's not just a True Empath, is she?"
I chose my words carefully. "I don't know what she is. But I know who she is. That's enough for now."
He accepted that, returning to his weaving. "The Convergence Point will test that. The Forgotten don't just want to lock reality—they want to lock identity. No more evolution. No more becoming. Just... being, forever unchanged."
"Sounds like death with better PR."
His laugh was soft. "My grandmother would have liked you. She said the same thing, right before she shattered herself rather than accept stasis."
The night deepened around us, full of new pack sounds. Somewhere, Marcus was teaching night watch patterns to sanctuary children. Somewhere, Virelle was probably terrifying and delighting someone in equal measure.
Tomorrow would bring integration training. Next week, who knew?
But tonight, we were building something in the quiet moments.
That had to count for something.
Dawn came too soon, bringing with it the reality of eighty wolves learning to live as something new.
I found myself mediating a dispute over shower schedules when Kai's shadow brought urgent news. "Movement in the northern trees. Feels like wolves, but... wrong somehow."
"Wrong how?"
"Like they're here but also not. Like Lira but different."
I gathered a small scouting party—Thorne for his reality-sight, Virelle for her experience, and surprisingly, Marcus volunteered. Still finding his way back to courage through small acts.
What we found defied easy explanation. Three wolves, yes, but they moved in perfect synchronization, as if controlled by a single mind. Their eyes held that same emptiness I'd seen in the Forgotten, but worse. These weren't people who'd chosen to forget feeling—these were people who'd never learned to feel at all.
"Constructs," Virelle breathed. "I haven't seen these since the first century after the Severing. The Order experimented with creating wolves without the burden of individual consciousness. Perfect soldiers, perfectly empty."
"Why are they here?" Marcus asked, his new empathy recoiling from their emotional void.
The constructs spoke in unison, their voices a hollow harmony. "The True Empath child will come to the Convergence Point. This is not a request. The Reality Anchor requires her presence. Compliance ensures survival. Resistance ensures correction."
"Correction?" I kept my voice steady despite the chill their words sent through me.
"The removal of flawed elements. Sanctuary designation: Failed Experiment. Recommended action: Termination."
They turned to leave, message delivered, but Luna's voice stopped them.
"Wait!" She stood between buildings, Lira at her side. "The hungry friend wants to know—what are you?"
The constructs tilted their heads in eerie unison. "We are efficiency. We are purpose without pain. We are what wolfkind should have been."
"You're lonely," Luna said sadly. "So lonely you don't even know you're lonely."
The constructs froze. All three heads turned to Luna with mechanical precision, and for one heartbeat, something flickered in their empty eyes. Then it was gone.
"Loneliness requires self. We have purpose." They resumed walking, but their synchronization faltered—just for a step—before returning.
Luna watched them disappear into the forest. "They heard me. Just for a second, they wondered what lonely meant."
"Dangerous," Virelle murmured. "You just put a crack in their programming. The Order won't appreciate that."
We headed back, but I couldn't shake the image of those empty wolves. Is that what the Order wanted for all of us? Perfect unity through the absence of self?
At the sanctuary, Senna waited with news. "The hunters are splitting. Three want to return to the Forgotten, report our location. Two are... uncertain. They want to stay, see what you're building here."
"And you?"
She looked at Lira, who was showing other children how to fold paper cranes that existed in multiple dimensions at once. "I can't leave her again. But staying means the Forgotten will send worse than constructs next time."
"Then we'd better be ready," I said, though I had no idea how to prepare for what was coming.
The morning sun felt too bright, too normal for the weight of what we faced. Eighty wolves learning to be something new, while forces older than memory decided our fate.
Luna tugged my hand. "The hungry friend says constructs make it sad. They're like echoes pretending to be voices. It wants to know why anyone would choose that."
So did I, little one. So did I.
The rest of the morning was integration training, and it was a disaster.
"You're not listening!" Teryn's frustration leaked through his gift, making everyone irritable. "Anger isn't something you push at people. It's something you let flow past."
"In pack dynamics, emotion IS pushed," a Silver Moon wolf argued. "Dominance requires—"
"We're not a pack!" Kai's shadow lashed out, making everyone step back. "Stop trying to make us into something we're not!"
I watched from the edge, letting them struggle. Sometimes learning meant failing first.
"They're trying," Marcus said beside me. He'd been shadowing the training, never quite joining. "Both sides. They just speak different languages."
"Then help them translate," I challenged.
He shook his head. "I can't. Every time I try to lead, I feel them all. Their disappointment, their hope, their..." He trailed off, lost in others' emotions.
Across the field, Luna sat with Lira and two young wolves, building something with sticks and feelings. Not teaching, just playing. But I noticed others watching, drawn to their easy cooperation.
"Maybe that's the answer," I murmured. "Not integration through training, but through just... being."
Virelle appeared at my other side. "The construct visit rattled them. Fear makes people cling to familiar patterns." She smiled darkly. "I should know. I spent centuries as a familiar monster rather than risk becoming something new."
"What changed?"
She watched Luna help a young wolf whose gift made plants die find a way to make them sleep instead. "She did. That impossible child who sees monsters as lonely friends. Hard to stay monstrous when a toddler insists on teaching you patty-cake."
The afternoon brought an unexpected breakthrough.
It started with a disaster—one of the new wolves, Garrett, accidentally triggered his gift during a panic attack. Time slowed around him in stuttering waves, trapping three sanctuary children in temporal bubbles.
"Don't touch them!" Renna shouted. "If the bubbles pop wrong, they could age decades in seconds!"
Garrett hyperventilated, making it worse. Each panicked breath stretched time thinner. The trapped children's faces showed fear frozen in slow motion.
"I can't stop it," he gasped. "I don't know how—"
Luna walked straight into the temporal field. Time should have caught her too, but instead she moved normally, like the distortion recognized her.
"It's okay," she said, taking Garrett's hand. "Breathe with me. In... out... Time isn't breaking. It's just scared like you."
Lira joined her, her reality-split vision seeing solutions. "Look—the time isn't stopped, just moving sideways. Like a river hitting rocks. We need to guide it back to the main flow."
Together, they worked—Luna calming Garrett's panic while Lira showed him how to see time as something that could be guided rather than forced. The bubbles slowly dissolved, releasing the children unharmed.
But the real breakthrough came after. Garrett looked at the sanctuary children he'd almost hurt, then at Luna and Lira who'd saved them, and said, "Teach me. Not pack ways or sanctuary ways. Your way."
Others began nodding. The artificial divisions we'd been maintaining—pack wolves here, sanctuary children there—started to blur.
"Mixed groups," I decided. "Everyone learns from everyone. No more separate training."
Senna stepped forward. "I'll help. My gift can show them how to let go of control without losing themselves."
Small steps. But for the first time, it felt like we were becoming something unified rather than just coexisting.
hat evening, I watched something beautiful.
In the main courtyard, Garrett worked with the twins, learning to bend time gently while they showed him how their shared calm could anchor him. Nearby, Senna taught breathing exercises to a group that mixed hunters, pack wolves, and sanctuary children. Kai's shadow played with the construct-touched wolves, helping them remember what play meant.
"It's working," Marcus said, and for the first time in days, he sounded almost hopeful. "They're teaching each other."
But Luna sat apart with Lira, both girls staring northward with troubled expressions.
"What is it?" I asked, joining them.
"The hungry friend is learning something new," Luna said. "From the constructs. It doesn't understand why anyone would choose to not-be while still being. It's..." She struggled for words.
"Confused," Lira supplied. "In every reality I can see, consciousness chooses more consciousness, not less. The constructs break that pattern. The Unnamed thinks they're wounded. It wants to help them remember themselves."
A chill ran through me. "What happens if it tries?"
Luna and Lira exchanged glances that held too much knowledge.
"Then the Order learns what happens when perfect emptiness meets infinite feeling," Luna said softly. "And we find out if constructs can scream."
The evening light faded, casting long shadows across our impossible sanctuary. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—more refugees, more threats, more choices that shaped what we were becoming.
But tonight, I watched wounded wolves teaching broken children that together meant something neither could achieve alone.
It wasn't enough. Not yet.
But it was a beginning.