"ONLY IN TOTAL DARKNESS DOES TRUE FORM REVEAL ITSELF." — Silver-maned Beast Being Proverb
---
The eclipse glowed.
Inside the cave, its light bled like a wound across the stone—diluted, unnatural, as if the moon had been swallowed and was struggling to breathe. Shadows bent at crooked angles. The cavernous walls flickered with silver pulses, and crystals embedded in the rock trembled faintly, echoing a pulse that wasn't their own. Pools of ancient water mirrored the half-lit sky, rippling with the breath of something watching.
Blotted out—not like the eye of a god, but like the soul of a star turning away. A celestial truth folding inward. As if the universe itself dared not watch what came next.
And in that vast, holy shadow, Sniffia arched.
Not in pain. In release.
No scream tore from her lips—only a deep, slow exhale, like the sigh of a forgotten forest awakening after a thousand winters. Her limbs trembled, not with fear, but surrender. Lines of light splintered across her skin, glowing veins of molten silver that shimmered, spidered outward—
And burst.
Her body erupted in fur, but not just fur—living moonlight, each strand like silk forged from stardust. Not dull like metal. Radiant. Her form shifted—elongating, streamlining. Her nails darkened into obsidian points, and her ears flicked higher. Fangs glistened in her serene mouth. A tail, silver and weightless, extended behind her like a comet's trail.
She rose—silent, barefoot—her shape still woman, but something more. Cloaked in sacred wildness. Her mane rippled down her spine like liquid silver, catching light the moon no longer gave.
Her face… no longer just Sniffia's.
It was ancient. Unforgiving. Beautiful.
Not cursed. Not hunted.
Reborn.
The chains behind her gave a final clatter to the ground—no clang. No defiance.
An offering.
The ground didn't shake.
It listened.
Peirce gasped. "Sniffia…" His voice cracked, like the air knew it shouldn't disturb the moment. "Can you hear me?"
She turned to him—glowing, grounded. "Yeah."
---
Elsewhere in the same glowing cavern, where stone met silence and the eclipse painted everything in a holy dusk, Sniffia's mother stood with the Humanes. The cave's breath passed over her like wind through granite.
"It was Priscilla," she said. "Luna's sister. The Divine Humane of Strength. She delivered them to me—every male Aurorae ever handed to her. Smuggled, one by one."
Luna's heart twisted. She clenched her fists. Her breath hitched.
She would not cry. Not here.
---
Back near the eclipse-lit grove at the heart of the cave, where roots broke through stone and moss had never dared grow until now, Node broke the silence.
"Well, is that it? I mean, when has anything ever gone that smoothly for us?"
"Chai, Node," Peirce muttered. "Don't jinx it."
But it was already too late.
Dark figures emerged from the cave's deeper veins—lurking monsters, more instinct than flesh. Drawn by the disturbance. Curious. Hungry. Enraged.
"Told you," Node grinned, blades already in his hands. "Won't be easy."
Peirce's eyes darted. "Oh, my bubbles…"
Luna's ears twitched.
She froze.
"…What did you just say?" she asked sharply, staring at Peirce.
But Peirce had already dashed forward beside Node, fists coiled and ready to strike.
"Remain calm!" Node shouted with confidence. "We fight monsters like these for breakfast!"
Luna blinked. That phrase. "Oh, my bubbles." Only one person used to say that.
Not just anyone.
Princess Wren.
Her breath caught in her throat. Could it be…? Was it stress? Or…
Did she miss her that much?
---
Now outside the cave—beneath trembling trees in a moon-smeared forest—the ground was littered with monster corpses, some twitching. A soft breeze passed through broken branches, carrying the scent of sap and scorched blood.
Peirce leaned back against a jagged rock, staring at Sniffia in awe.
Sniffia stretched her furry arms, each moment fluid and primal. Her silver tail flicked, ears high and listening. Moonlight scattered along her mane like shards of glass over rippling water.
"Can you, like… retract one of your ears?" Peirce asked, eyes wide.
Sniffia smirked. "Like this?" One ear bent with elegance, feline and smug.
"Confirm!" both boys shouted.
Node squinted. "What about your tail? Can you make, like, eight more? I love how smooth—"
He touched it.
Sniffia's venomous golden eyes locked on him. Node froze.
She blinked once. Then…
They all laughed—raucous, reckless, real. Laughter like freedom after war. Even Luna, from a distance, felt the weight slip off her chest.
She muttered softly, "I wish the princess could see this. That the world can still… be fun."
Her gaze drifted skyward.
"But she's off training to protect it…"
---
Meanwhile, in the distance where trees were thinner and moonlight threaded the leaves like a net, Dante whispered to Pamela.
"Why didn't you strike?"
Pamela stared at her Kirin. The beast had backed away, wide-eyed, stomping nervously in the brush.
"The Kirin got scared," she said.
Dante raised a brow. "Of a girl turning for the first time?"
"No," Pamela murmured. "Of something else. It sensed something beyond comprehension. Something… out of this world."
Dante followed her gaze. Node?
No.
Her.
Sniffia.
He exhaled through his teeth. "You know what's crazy? The Reincarnate of the Destroyer… hanging out with a shape-shifting moon girl and the only cook in the world. That trio makes less sense every day."
Pamela didn't smile. "But it feels right, doesn't it?"
---
Luna's voice cut in, walking up to them with her elder sisters.
"Who is that boy?" She pointed to Peirce, now wiping ichor from his fists, smiling like he hadn't just killed a beast.
Sniffia's mother didn't hesitate. "The destroyer of the world, of course."
Luna's breath hitched. Behind her, her sisters tensed, their hands curling into fists.
But Lazarus chuckled, trying to ease the air. "Slow down. Cutest—relax. It was never confirmed. Just rumors."
Sniffia's mother scoffed. "Dey play."
Lazarus blinked. "They what?"
"If you want to take them," Sniffia's mother said, voice like iron dragging across stone, "come. But they won't believe you. They won't leave here. And I raised them like my own."
Luna's hand curled into a fist. "I'll convince them. One way or another."
Sniffia's mother smiled, unbothered. "Suit yourself."
Then—
A sound like leaves gasping.
Wind twirled. Light spiraled from the bark as a shield shimmered at the edge of the clearing—its bearer stepping forth, woven from light and wood.
Leaves fluttered around their feet like feathers drifting from an ancient sky.
Luna's mouth parted as she stared at the figure standing in the whirlwind of leaves.
She whispered—
"…Dryad?"