Rayner held Marcelia close, his arms wrapped gently around her trembling form as she cried into his chest. The sobs came in waves, deep and raw, each one seeming to pull her further into the storm of her own grief. He could feel her body shaking, her fingers clutching at his tunic as though she was afraid she might break apart if she let go.

His heart twisted painfully at the sight of her like this-vulnerable, hurting, lost. He had seen her bravely dealing with Lucillia with quiet strength, but this was different. This grief was something no healing magic or comforting song could fix. It clawed at her, and it clawed at him too.

As her tears soaked through the fabric tunic, he buried his face in her hair, his voice a quiet murmur. "I'm here," he whispered, "I've got you, Marcelia."

Yet, beneath his soothing words, a darker current stirred. The longer he held her, the more something primal and furious began to unfurl in his chest. It was a raw, unyielding rage that simmered just below the surface, an anger directed at those who had stolen her peace. His Tyngan. His beloved.

The thought twisted like a knife in his mind, and with it came the urge to hunt down those responsible. To tear their throats out with his bare hands. To rend the flesh of anyone who had caused her pain and scatter their bones in the dirt.

Rayner closed his eyes, swallowing against the fury rising in his throat. He couldn't-wouldn't-let her see him like that. Not now, not while she was vulnerable. She didn't need the monster. She needed him. The Rayner who could hold her without letting the rage consume him.

But the fire was growing, fueled by her tears, by her anguish. The longer he sat in silence, cradling her small, shaking form, the harder it became to ignore the bloodlust clawing at him from within. His nails dug into the dirt beneath them, the strain of holding evident in the tremor that ran through his arm.

Not yet, he told himself, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly, though still gentle. Not in front of her.

The ravens gathered in the trees around them, their black eyes gleaming as if they could sense the shift inside him. "They are not worthy of your wrath," one cawed from above. "But if you must hunt, hunt to protect, not destroy."

Another raven landed on the branch just above them, its voice a low croak. "She needs you, not the rage, not the beast. She needs you."

Rayner's breath shuddered, the heat of his fury battling against the cool logic in their words. Marcelia stirred in his arms, her sobs softening, though the weight of her sorrow still clung to her like a shroud. He tilted his head down, pressing a kiss to her temple, but the hunger to kill-to ruin-still lingered on the edges of his control.

But for her sake, for her he held on.

Rayner's arms tightened around Marcelia as her sobs finally quieted into shallow, uneven breaths. She had exhausted herself, the weight of her grief too much even her strong will to bear. Gently, he brushed the damp strands of hair from her face, his thumb trailing softly along her cheek.

She needed rest, peace. But he could feel the beast stirring inside him, dark and terrible, growing with every ragged breath she took. It was clawing at his insides, demanding release. His bones ached with it, his blood felt like it was on fire. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't let her see it.

Leaning down, he whispered softly in her ear, his voice laced with a spell-one that carried the gentlest touch of magic. "Sleep now, Marcelia," he breathed. "Sleep and dream of a world without pain. I'll still be here when you wake."

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, resisting the pull of the spell, but exhaustion soon overtook her. She went still in his arms, her breathing evening out into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Rayner held her for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face. She looked so fragile, so human. She had no idea the danger she was in-not from him, but from the beast that lay within him.

Carefully, he laid her down on the soft grass, brushing his hand gently over her forehead one last time before he rose to his feet. The ravens had gathered closer now, their dark forms watching the trees. One hopped down to perch beside Marcelia, tilting its head as if to offer silent comfort.

"You cannot run from what you are," one of the ravens croaked, its voice echoing in the stillness of the forest. "The Queen of Ravens knows your true self, and so will Marcelia. She will not fear you."

Rayner clenched his fists, the tremors already starting in his body. "She can't see this," he growled under his breath. "She can never see what I am."

The first crack of bone echoed through the air like a thunderclap, ripping a groan from his throat. Pain lanced through him as his form began to shift, his bones breaking and reforming with sickening snaps. His body contorted, doubling over as the transformation overtook him, seizing control. His hair, once shining white, now turned dark like the night sky, deepening into an abyss, so black that it seemed to consume all light around it.

The flowers on his horns withered and died, falling to the ground in brittle, decayed petals. His horns themselves began to twist and crystallize, taking on the gleaming sharpness of obsidian, their once elegant curves now jagged and cruel. His teeth elongated into jagged fangs, his month splitting into a maw from which a thick, dark liquid-pure concentrated magic-began to drip. His fingers elongated, ending in claws that gleamed like polished onyx.

The pain was unbearable, searing through every inch of him, but he welcomed it. It was the price for becoming this monster- a beast born of blood and rage. His skin stretched taut over his muscles as they expanded, his body warping into monstrous form, towering and terrifying.

Above him, the ravens circled, their voices echoing in unison, "You are not a monster to us, our Prince. You are what you were always meant to be- a protector, a guardian. Marcelia is in good hands."

Rayner's vision blurred, clouded by the agony and the fury coursing through him. He roared, the sound reverberating through the forest, sending the ravens scattering for a brief moment before they returned, undeterred. His mind spawn in the chaos of his transformation, the weight of his monstrous form pressing down on his soul. He wanted to fight it, but there was no stopping what had already began.

And yet, through the haze of pain and fury, the ravens' words reached him. "The Queen of Ravens will rejoice in your survival, my Prince. She has waited long to see that you live."

The beast within him growled, but their words brought a small measure of clarity. He wasn't just a monster. Not yet. Not as long as Marcelia slept peacefully, unaware of the darkness swirling so close to her.

With a final breath, Rayner let the transformation take him completely, his monstrous form fully emerging under the pale moonlight. He stood, towering and feral, but the soft rise and fall of Marcelia's chest anchored him- kept the last thread of his sanity intact.

For her sake, for the one he calls Tyngan, he would hold on.