Fenrir stayed in the shadows, watching Zelphra as she stood alone in the cemetery. Her form was composed, back straight, hand resting just slightly above her sword.
But her mana told a different story—it was restless. Like a caged beast that had finally sensed its original master.
He could feel the echo of himself inside her.
Not in memory or thought, but in power. Raw, familiar, twisted. She had something that once belonged to him.
And it responded to his presence.
Zelphra's brow furrowed slightly. She took a step forward, eyes narrowing, lips parting in suspicion.
"Who's there?"
She asked, her voice low but commanding.
Fenrir stayed silent. It wasn't time—not yet. He wasn't ready to talk, and certainly not to reveal himself.
But the mana within her surged, pulling against her control. It reached toward him like a child recognizing its parent.
She flinched.
In that moment, she knew.
