Something was wrong.
Arian could feel it even before the vision fully settled. The smoke curled thicker around him, the images sharpening into something far too real. He saw himself—smaller, thinner, shaking hands, clutching a blade.
His own wolf ears.
The boy in the vision was crying silently, teeth clenched, trying not to make a sound as he pressed the blade down. There was blood. Too much blood. The smell of iron hit Arian so hard his stomach turned.
"Stop," Arian whispered, even though he knew the vision couldn't hear him.
The boy didn't stop.
He watched himself do it. Not once, not hesitantly, but with determination, as if pain was better than living with the reminder that he was wrong. Half-wolf. Not whole. Not enough.
And then—he succeeded.
He... Did he disfigure himself just to feel accepted?
