Night returned slowly, as if the world itself hesitated to darken around Blake.
The pack had settled deeper into the forest, giving him space without being asked. They understood silence. They understood when their Alpha needed to be alone with thoughts too sharp to share.
Alder Rowan remained.
He sat beside a small fire near the cliff's edge, hands folded around a cup that had long since gone cold. The flames cast uneven light across his lined face, carving regret into every shadow.
Blake stood a few paces away, staring out at the city lights in the distance.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
The wind moved through the trees like a whispering crowd, and Blake wondered—briefly—how many nights he had stood like this without knowing why the emptiness never left.
Finally, Blake spoke.
"Tell me something, Alder."
Alder lifted his head. "Anything."
Blake's voice was steady, but only because he forced it to be.
"Is there a way," Blake said slowly, "for me to turn back into a human?"
The question hung between them.
Alder did not answer immediately.
That silence told Blake more than words ever could.
Blake turned his head slightly, one amber eye glowing faintly in the firelight.
"You hesitated," Blake said. "That means you've thought about it."
Alder exhaled. "Yes."
Blake faced him fully now.
"Then don't soften it," Blake said. "Don't protect me from the truth. I've lived in blood and bone for most of my life. I can handle it."
Alder studied him for a long moment.
Not the monster.
Not the Alpha.
The boy who had been left in the woods and survived anyway.
"There may be a way," Alder said carefully. "But not the way you're hoping."
Blake sat down heavily on a fallen log opposite him. The wood creaked under his weight.
"Start at the beginning," Blake said.
Alder nodded.
"Transformation," Alder began, "is not just physical. Especially not in you. For most were-creatures, the change is cyclical—a pull between forms. A door that swings both ways."
Blake listened intently.
"But your transformation wasn't cyclical," Alder continued. "It was foundational. Your body didn't change into something else. It became something else."
Blake clenched his jaw.
"So there's no door," he said. "Only a wall."
"Not exactly," Alder said. "More like… the door was melted shut."
Blake laughed quietly. "Figures."
Alder leaned forward.
"But," he added, "metal can be reforged."
Blake's head snapped up.
"What would that take?" Blake demanded.
Alder hesitated again.
Blake's voice sharpened. "You promised not to lie."
"I won't," Alder said. "But I won't pretend it's safe."
He took a breath.
"To return you fully to human form would require undoing a layered binding of blood, magic, and identity," Alder said. "Dragon fire. Primal wolf essence. And the third inheritance the Continuum wove into you."
Blake's fingers dug into the log.
"And if I tried?"
Alder met his gaze steadily.
"You would risk tearing yourself apart."
Blake nodded slowly.
"That sounds familiar."
Alder continued. "Even if it worked—if you survived—you wouldn't be the man you were."
Blake's voice dropped. "I don't want to be."
That stopped Alder.
Blake stared into the fire.
"I don't want to go back to the boy who cried in the snow," Blake said quietly. "I want to know if there's a version of me that can walk into the city… and not scare children."
Alder swallowed.
"You're asking whether humanity is still accessible to you," Alder said.
"Yes," Blake replied. "Not whether I deserve it. Whether it's still there."
Alder closed his eyes briefly.
"I believe it is," he said softly. "But not as a form you can wear forever."
Blake frowned. "Explain."
"You are no longer one thing," Alder said. "You are a convergence. Trying to erase one part would destabilize the rest."
Blake's shoulders slumped slightly.
"So I'm trapped," he said.
"No," Alder corrected. "You're anchored."
Blake looked up sharply.
"The forest anchors you," Alder continued. "The pack anchors you. Choice anchors you."
Blake's voice grew bitter. "That doesn't help me answer the question."
Alder sighed. "There may be a way for you to manifest a human form. Temporarily."
Blake's heart stuttered.
"How temporary?"
"Minutes at first," Alder said. "Maybe hours, if mastered."
Blake stood abruptly, pacing.
"That's still something," Blake said. "That's more than I had five minutes ago."
"Yes," Alder agreed. "But it comes with a cost."
Blake stopped pacing.
"What cost?"
Alder's voice grew heavier. "Every time you suppress what you are, it will push back harder."
Blake turned slowly.
"You're saying the more human I become," Blake said, "the more monstrous I risk becoming afterward."
"Yes."
Blake let out a long breath.
"That's the story of my life," he muttered.
Alder studied him.
"Why do you want this so badly?" Alder asked gently. "You rule the forest. You're feared, respected, powerful. Why reach for something that nearly destroyed you?"
Blake didn't answer right away.
He stared at his hands.
At claws that had ended lives.
At fur stained by years of survival.
"Because," Blake said quietly, "I don't want my kindness to be accidental."
Alder stilled.
"I don't want mercy to be something I fight for," Blake continued. "I want it to be something that comes naturally. Something I choose without having to wrestle the storm every time."
Alder's eyes burned.
"That is the most human thing you've said," he whispered.
Blake laughed softly. "That's what scares me."
Silence fell again.
Then Blake spoke, barely above a whisper.
"If I ever do this… if I ever try to reclaim that form… would it mean leaving the pack?"
Alder hesitated.
Blake's voice cracked. "Answer me."
"No," Alder said firmly. "It would not sever your bond. But it would change how you lead."
Blake nodded slowly.
"They don't need a king," Blake said. "They need someone who remembers pain."
Alder watched him with awe.
"Sam is still in you," Alder said. "Not buried. Not dead. Just… quiet."
Blake's throat tightened.
"I hate him sometimes," Blake admitted. "For being weak."
Alder shook his head. "He wasn't weak. He was alone."
The words broke something open.
Blake bowed his head, shoulders shaking once before he forced himself still.
"I don't know if I can forgive my parents," Blake said. "I don't know if I should."
Alder nodded. "Forgiveness is not required for healing."
Blake looked at him sharply.
"Say that again."
"Forgiveness is not required for healing," Alder repeated. "Only understanding."
Blake exhaled slowly.
"If I try this," Blake said, "if I seek this path… will it make me less of what the pack needs?"
Alder stood and placed a hand—not on Blake's shoulder, but on the log beside him.
"No," Alder said. "It will make you more dangerous."
Blake smirked faintly. "That's not reassuring."
"Dangerous to those who would use you," Alder clarified. "Because you'll no longer be predictable."
Blake stared into the fire.
"A monster who chooses humanity," Blake murmured. "That scares everyone."
"Yes," Alder agreed. "Including you."
Blake stood again and walked to the cliff's edge.
The city lights blinked in the distance.
"So," Blake said quietly, "there's no simple answer."
"No," Alder said. "Only a question you'll have to keep asking."
Blake nodded.
"I can live with that," he said. "I've lived with worse."
He turned back.
"Stay," Blake said. "Teach me what you know."
Alder bowed his head deeply. "With honor."
Blake looked up at the sky.
The storm clouds had thinned.
Stars peeked through.
"I don't know if I'll ever be human again," Blake said softly. "But I know this—"
He glanced back at the forest, at the sleeping pack.
"I won't let the world decide what I am anymore."
Alder smiled sadly.
"That," he said, "was never in doubt."
The fire crackled.
The forest breathed.
And somewhere deep inside Blake Black, the boy named Sam stirred—not to reclaim the past, but to shape what came next.