The forest shifted like a breathing beast.
Each step Qin took crunched on the same dead leaves, passed the same crooked tree, echoed with the same lone crow's caw. The time loop had stopped feeling like a riddle—it felt like a snare. Tighter. Smarter. Cruel.
Lyra paced ahead, her cloak torn, eyes flaring gold in the dimming light. "This is the third time we've come past that root in the last ten minutes. Either the trees are playing tricks, or we're stuck worse than I thought."
Qin nodded, swallowing against the headache pounding at his temples. His magic had flickered out an hour ago. The runes wouldn't hold. His staff buzzed with unstable energy, like even it knew something was off.
"The loop is collapsing in on itself," he muttered. "Each reset is shorter. Sharper. It's learning."
Lyra turned to him, sniffed the air, then scowled. "And you're... changing. You smell like moonlight and adrenaline. Your heart's racing."
Qin's throat tightened. His limbs ached. His palms trembled. It was like fire was dancing in his blood.
"I haven't been bitten," he whispered.
"Maybe you don't need to be," Lyra said, her tone too quiet.
They set up another fire—their fourth that day. Or maybe it was still the first. Time had lost its spine.
The heat didn't help. Qin pulled his cloak tighter, trying to fight the sweat. Lyra watched him from across the flames. Her stare was half-curious, half-hunting.
"You're burning up," she said. "You sure you're still human?"
He tried to laugh. It came out a cough.
Suddenly, the air changed.
A ripple ran through the trees.
Lyra tensed. Her teeth clenched. "It's resetting."
Qin closed his eyes.
Everything blinked.
He opened his eyes.
Back at the tree with the bleeding bark.
The fire was unlit.
Lyra sat in the exact same spot—but this time, her expression was... wrong. Her eyes weren't just glowing now. They were wild. Primal.
"Lyra?" he asked.
She stood slowly, step by slow step, until she was nose-to-nose with him.
"You smell..." she murmured, sniffing. "Like prey and something more."
Her pupils narrowed to slits.
Then she leapt.
He didn't have time to cast.
They hit the ground hard, her body pinning his, hands on his shoulders. For a split second, the world narrowed to the smell of pine needles and the burn of heat between them. Qin's heart slammed against his chest, not just from the impact—but from something older. Primal. Familiar.
He flashed to a memory: a lesson from Narin, his master, warning him about the moment instinct outweighs intention. "Magic without discipline is a blade turned inward," he'd said. "But worse than wild magic is wild blood."
Qin could feel that wildness rising now, curling under his skin like smoke.
Her breath came fast and rough. Fangs slid from her gums, white and trembling.. Her breath came fast and rough. Fangs slid from her gums, white and trembling.
"Lyra," he whispered. "Don't."
Her jaws hovered inches above his throat.
She froze.
Her eyes widened. Her body shook.
She shoved herself off him like she'd touched fire.
She backed into a tree, panting. "What the hell was that?"
Qin sat up, shaking. "Instinct."
"It wasn't me," she said. "It was like... I was pulled. Like your blood called to mine."
He stood, unsteady. "I think the ring is waking something up. I think I'm meant to be turned."
She stared at him, chest rising and falling. "If I had bitten you... you wouldn't have survived the first night."
He looked at her, serious. "Then don't let it happen by accident. Because it's getting stronger."
The trees groaned.
A new sound came through the fog.
Not wind.
Laughter.
Low. Echoing.
A shape flickered between the trees. A wolf-shadow, stitched from smoke and bone. It grinned.
And spoke.
"The moon doesn't guide you, boy. It binds you."
Qin stepped forward, staff raised. "Then I'll break the leash."
Lyra moved beside him. "You sure you're ready?"
"No," he said. "But if I fall, you finish it."
She nodded once. "Deal."
The forest began to unravel.
Qin took a shaky breath. "We don't have long. If the loop doesn't snap on its own, we'll be buried with it."
Lyra's eyes flared. "Then we break it. How?"
He clenched his jaw, considering. "Magic like this doesn't end unless something stronger pushes back. A soul tether might do it."
Her brow furrowed. "A what now?"
Qin turned to her, voice urgent but steady. "I need an anchor—something real, something alive, something connected to this place but not controlled by it. If I bind part of my spell to you—"
"To me?"
He nodded. "You're a natural creature of the moon, but unclaimed by the packs, untouched by this forest's laws. You're chaos with memory. That makes you perfect."
She stared at him for a long moment, then stepped forward, lowering her defenses. "Fine. But if I explode, I'm haunting you."
Qin raised his staff and traced the first rune midair, this time with her hand in his. Her skin was warm, pulse strong.
"Close your eyes," he whispered. "And don't move."
As he wove the spell, he channeled everything—fear, memory, heat, blood. The runes spiraled, glowing with golden-red light. They didn't just hover—they clung to Lyra, circling her wrist like bracelets, flaring with power.
The forest shrieked. Shadows recoiled.
The air split.
And with a final word—his master's last spell—Qin drove the staff into the earth.
A pulse shot out. Like a scream. Like thunder breaking time.
The ground split beneath them.
The trees folded in like mirrors.
And for one terrifying heartbeat, the world fell silent.
Lyra's hand tightened around his. Her voice came through the darkness: "You did it. You actually did it."
Then light returned—not sun, not moon. Just possibility.
And the loop was gone..
And this time, the loop didn't start again.
Qin had a little recap about his younger days and how he was always good at magic, and he remembered his late master words.
Conduct crowns the soul.