The full moon rose like a judgment.
It climbed slowly over Ashmoor, pale and enormous, bleaching the world of softness. Every shadow sharpened. Every sound carried farther than it should. Lena felt it the moment the last sliver of daylight vanished—the pull, sudden and fierce, like a tide yanking at her bones.
Tonight was the night.
Torches burned along the village square as people gathered, fear and resolve etched into their faces. Sheriff Alden stood at the front, his posture rigid, flanked by men carrying cans of oil and bundles of kindling. Beyond them, Blackthorn Forest waited—dark, silent, watching.
Lena stepped forward.
The crowd parted instinctively.
Whispers followed her like falling leaves. Some looked at her with hope. Others with terror. She felt all of it—every heartbeat, every breath—threaded together by the forest's awareness.
"You don't have to do this," Alden said quietly when she reached him.
"Yes," Lena replied. "I do."
Before he could answer, a howl tore through the night.
Not one—three.
The forest exploded into motion. Branches cracked. Wind rushed outward as if the trees themselves recoiled. Shapes moved between trunks, fast and powerful.
Elias emerged first.
He was barely holding on. His form wavered—human, beast, something in between. His breathing came in harsh, broken gasps as he dropped to one knee at the forest's edge.
"I can't stop it," he groaned. "The moon—it's too strong."
Lena ran to him.
The heat surged violently through her veins as soon as she crossed the boundary between village and forest. She stumbled, vision blurring, claws threatening to tear through skin that struggled to remain human.
"Look at me," she said, gripping Elias's shoulders. "You're not alone."
Another howl answered—closer, angrier.
A second werewolf burst from the trees.
Then a third.
Gasps erupted from the crowd. Someone screamed.
"We were never the only ones," Elias whispered in horror. "The curse spread… quietly."
The sheriff raised his rifle. "Burn it," he shouted.
Flames leapt as torches were thrown.
"No!" Lena screamed.
She thrust the pendant into the air.
Moonlight struck it like a blade.
The symbols blazed brighter than ever before, spiraling outward, wrapping the clearing in shimmering light. The flames guttered and died midair, snuffed out as if the forest itself had exhaled.
Everything stopped.
The werewolves froze, snarls caught in their throats. Elias cried out as the shifting halted abruptly, his form locking into something stable—still powerful, still altered, but controlled.
Lena fell to her knees, the light pouring through her like fire and water at once.
She saw everything.
The origin of the curse—not a punishment, but a pact. Long ago, the Grays had bound themselves to the forest to protect it from destruction. The transformation was never meant to be endless madness. It was meant to be shared, guided, renewed.
The pact had broken when fear replaced balance.
"I understand now," Lena whispered.
The forest listened.
She pressed her hands to the earth.
"I accept the bond," she said aloud, voice shaking but clear. "Not to rule it. Not to fear it. But to guard it—with choice."
The moon flared.
Pain ripped through her—not tearing, but reshaping. She cried out as her senses expanded fully, her shadow stretching tall and fierce behind her. For a heartbeat, claws gleamed where her hands should be.
Then she breathed.
And the change stopped.
She rose—human, but altered. Stronger. Rooted.
The other werewolves howled—not in rage, but relief. One by one, their forms steadied, the madness draining from their eyes.
Elias stared at Lena, awe and tears mingling. "You did it."
She turned to the village.
"This ends tonight," she said. "No more hunts. No more fires. The forest stands with us—or it falls against us."
Silence stretched.
Then Sheriff Alden lowered his rifle.
Slowly, others followed.
The moon climbed higher, no longer harsh—just bright.
The forest exhaled.
And for the first time in generations, Ashmoor stood on the edge of something new.
Not a curse.
A choice.