For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Elara knelt beside me, the scroll discarded at her side, its runes now dull and lifeless. The blade in her hand trembled, her knuckles white as she gripped it tightly. Her breathing was ragged, shallow, and I could see the exhaustion weighing on her—both from the ritual and from the strain of whatever courage had pushed her to attempt it. She had given a part of herself, and I wasn’t sure she fully understood what she had awakened.

I stared at her, my chest still heaving. The rush of mana pulsing through me was exhilarating, yes, but it was also terrifying. It wasn’t just power—it was memory. Awareness. A fragment of myself that had lain dormant for so long was now stirring, refusing to be buried again. Marcelo. The name echoed in my mind, louder now, insistent. A name I had abandoned—or perhaps been forced to abandon. A name tied to a past that I wasn’t ready to face.

Elara’s mismatched eyes met mine. In her gaze, I saw a mixture of relief, hope, and a flicker of fear. She reached out hesitantly, her hand hovering just above my muzzle, but this time I pulled back, shaking my head. I couldn’t let her touch me—not yet. Not while my mind was still reeling.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering her hand. Her voice was unsteady, cracking under the weight of what she had done. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I had to try.”

But before I could dwell on her words, the air around us shifted.

A cold, oppressive presence seeped into the pen, coiling around us like a serpent. I stiffened, my ears flattening against my skull as the familiar frost began to creep across the ground. Elara froze, her head snapping toward the direction of the castle. Her golden eye narrowed, her jaw tightening.

“Mother,” she breathed.

I followed her gaze, my muscles tensing instinctively. Sure enough, Selene was there, her figure barely visible through the shadows of the garden. She wasn’t moving, but I could feel her watching us, her presence pressing down like a heavy weight. The frost queen had always carried herself with a quiet menace, but now, in the wake of what Elara had done, her aura was suffocating.

‘She knows,’ I murmured in my mind, though the words felt more like a warning than a revelation.

Elara rose to her feet quickly, her hands brushing against her skirts as though to compose herself. “Stay here,” she said quietly, her tone sharp. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” Her mismatched eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw fear. Not for herself, but for me.

She stepped forward, moving toward the fence. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as though she were trying not to draw too much attention. But it was no use. Selene’s gaze was already locked on us, and even from a distance, I could feel the chill of her displeasure.

“Elara,” Selene called, her voice carrying through the stillness like the crack of ice. “What, exactly, are you doing out here?”