Chapter 3: The Night of the Wolf

Night came to the canyon like a vow.

Not sudden. Not loud. Just certain.

Jer stayed where the shadows were deepest, tucked beneath the overhang of stone that had hidden him from the drone earlier that day. The fire he built was small—careful. More habit than comfort. He didn’t need the warmth the way he used to.

But he still needed the ritual.

The world felt different after alignment. Not brighter. Truer.

Every sound carried layers now—the scrape of wind against rock, the distant cry of something hunting in the dark, the pulse of his own blood moving like a quiet drumbeat beneath it all. He could feel the canyon the way he once felt a radio signal—present even when silent.

He closed his eyes.

And that’s when he felt it.

Not fear. Not threat.

Presence.

The space between thought and intention opened again.

He stood not in the canyon now, but in that familiar stillness where the world felt like breath held too long. The wolf was there.

Larger than memory. Not towering in dominance—but in being.

His fur was darker now, threaded with silver that caught the dim light of nowhere. His eyes held something Jer recognized instantly.

The part of himself that never quit. The part that never looked away.

“You’re real,” Jer said.

The wolf inclined his head.

So are you.

The being of light emerged beside them—not stepping into the space, but unfolding within it. No shape stayed long enough to define, but the presence was unmistakable.