Miyu didn't know how long she stood there.
The crack in the sketchbook pulsed with moonlight, gentle yet steady. It didn't feel like light—it felt like invitation. Like a hand extended through the veil of dreams, waiting for hers to reach back.
Her fingers hovered just above the glowing tear.
One breath.
Two.
Her fingertips brushed the light.
And in a blink—
She was gone.
---
The world shifted.
The floor beneath her vanished.
The air changed—thick and cool, filled with the scent of moss, rain-soaked bark, and something wild.
She stumbled forward onto damp earth.
Leaves rustled above.
The sky overhead was black and endless, speckled with stars she didn't recognize. And the moon—gods, the moon—it was enormous, too big for any sky. Its pale light washed over everything, turning the forest silver and shadow.
Miyu turned around.
There was no door. No tear. No sketchbook. Just trees. Tall, dark, and ancient, like they had been here for a thousand years watching and waiting.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Was she dreaming?
She pinched herself. The sting felt real.
This was real.
A howl echoed in the distance. Deep. Resonant. Close.
Miyu spun, eyes wide, backing up until she hit a tree trunk.
A second howl joined the first—higher, shriller.
Then silence.
And then…
Movement.
In the trees.
Low growling.
She held her breath, crouching low. Her mind raced—how did she get here? How would she get out?
The bushes rustled.
Two glowing eyes appeared in the dark. Silver. Sharp.
A massive shape emerged from the trees—tall, muscular, fur-lined, unmistakably not human. It looked at her. Sniffed the air.
Another figure joined it.
This one was cloaked.
Just like the one she'd drawn.
The figure stepped forward, slowly removing the hood.
It was a boy.
No—a young man, silver hair falling over his forehead, his eyes glowing like the moon. His face was wild and beautiful, like a creature made of both chaos and grace.
"You crossed," he said, voice low and strange. "You shouldn't have."
Miyu's breath hitched. "I-I didn't mean to…"
He tilted his head. "But you did."
The werewolf behind him growled low, almost like a warning.
The boy—no, the Alpha—watched her carefully.
"You're not just an artist," he murmured. "You're a Gateborn."
---