I emerge at dawn.
Not crowned. Not exalted. There is no flare of light, no chorus of howls to announce what I have become. I step out of the chamber and into the gray edge of morning, and the world simply makes room for me, as if it has already adjusted its expectations.
The first thing I notice is the quiet.
Not silence. Breath still moves. Leaves still stir in the faint wind. But the air around me feels settled, finished, as if something volatile has finally burned itself out. The terrible calm that follows a storm spreads outward from my skin, and I feel it the way you feel pressure change before rain, subtle but undeniable. Wolves nearby slow without realizing why. Conversations taper off mid sentence. Movements soften, cautious, instinctively measured.
Someone drops to one knee.
