Page 48

The clash of magic and force thundered through the broken corridor as Keegan lunged again.

He was massive now, towering, his black wolf form crackling with power, paws hitting stone like hammers with each movement.

His fur shimmered with silvery threads of magic, remnants of the Moonbeam clinging to him like the night itself hadn’t yet let go.

His eyes glowed gold and bright, alive with something ancient and wild, something Gideon would never understand.

Gideon stood to face him, cloak ragged and burned, shadow clinging to his shoulders like armor.

He bled from his side where Keegan’s claws had caught him earlier, but he stood tall, twisted power pooling around him like ink across water.

His fingers sparked with magic—too sharp, too thin, like it had been peeled from something unnatural.

Keegan growled, the low rumble vibrating through the cracked stone. His muscles coiled as he prowled in a slow circle, breath steaming in the cold air. He was focused. Pure. A predator who had stopped thinking and started knowing.

And Gideon, he was finally afraid.

He masked it well, of course. With a smirk. With a tilt of his head and a careless flick of his hand that sent a gust of shadow slicing toward the wolf.

But Keegan dodged with ease. He ducked low and, in one fluid motion, launched into the air, landing on Gideon with a roar that wasn’t just fury. It was protection. Purpose. Love.

They rolled in a burst of dust and light, Gideon snarling, trying to strike with his magic, but Keegan was on top of him, snapping, tearing, raking across Gideon’s shoulder. Blood hit the floor in splatters, and the walls flared with residual energy.

Gideon vanished in a shimmer of shadow, only to reappear ten feet away, panting, holding one arm with the other.

“I didn’t think the mutt had it in him,” he spat.

Keegan growled again and took a step forward.

And that’s when the change happened.

It wasn’t Keegan’s shape. It was the air.

The magic. The feeling in the bones of the Academy.

Something shifted. Deep and reverent. As if the land itself recognized what stood before it.

This was no ordinary shifter.

Keegan didn’t just shift.

He had ascended.

He stood taller now, even more massive, like the full truth of the wolf had finally been accepted.

A guardian. A force of the old world. His fur shimmered faintly with sigils—runes of the wilds etched into muscle and spirit. This wasn’t the Keegan I had met months ago.

This was the Keegan the land remembered.

He snarled, and the torches lining the hall flared, casting golden light against the cracked stone, setting shadows dancing like ghosts against the far wall.

Gideon backed up, his smirk faltering. “You think glowing will change anything?”

Keegan leapt again, faster than light.

They collided once more, and this time, Gideon didn’t get a hit in.

Keegan slammed into him, pinning him against a stone column that split under the pressure. Gideon choked as claws raked across his chest, and then Keegan’s massive head lowered, eyes glowing as he let out a guttural growl directly in Gideon’s face.

Gideon screamed and thrust both hands forward, unleashing a shockwave of black magic.

Keegan flew backward, skidding across the floor and crashing into a broken archway, but before the dust could even settle, he stood, unharmed, and let out a howl that shook the very foundation of the Academy.

It wasn’t rage.

It was claim.

“This isn’t yours,” the howl said.

This land, this magic, this fight, it didn’t belong to darkness.

And Gideon knew it.

He shouted something unintelligible, summoning spikes of shadow that shot from the floor and ceiling, trying to box Keegan in. But Keegan moved with impossible grace, dodging, weaving, smashing through the traps. His body was a blur of muscle, light, and raw instinct.

He circled Gideon again, faster now.

And Gideon was slower.

Tired.

Bleeding.

Unraveling.

I watched, my heart in my throat, as Keegan feinted left and then lunged right, biting into Gideon’s forearm and flinging him like a doll. Gideon rolled across the floor, gasping, coughing, magic flickering weakly from his fingertips.

Keegan approached slowly now, every pawstep a warning.

Towering over him.

Bigger.

Older.

More.

Gideon tried to rise, his cloak slipping from one shoulder, exposing bloodied runes carved into his skin. Desperate things. Anchors. Magic stolen and burned and shoved where it didn’t belong.

“You were never strong enough,” Gideon rasped. “You’re just a beast who follows orders.”

Keegan growled again, deeper this time.

And then…

He shifted back.

It was fast, fur pulling back, limbs folding inward, the golden light dimming as Keegan returned to himself, bloodied and bruised.

Human.

But never less.

He stood over Gideon now, taller even in this form, chest heaving, blood trailing from his shoulder.

And he said, voice like gravel soaked in thunder: “I didn’t do this because of orders. I did it because of her.”

His gaze met mine across the battlefield.

Everything in me stopped.

Keegan didn’t look away.

He didn’t need to.

The air between us burned with something far more dangerous than rage.

Devotion.

“You’ve underestimated everyone here,” Keegan continued, turning back to Gideon. “Maeve. The students. The land itself. And you underestimated me.”

Gideon tried to conjure something, one last spell, one last blade of shadow, but Keegan kicked it aside like it was smoke and slammed a hand into the wall beside Gideon’s head.

“You don’t get to come back from this,” Keegan said. “Next time… you won’t have a shadow left to crawl into.”

“Keegan!” I shouted, the fear returning to my throat. “He’s—”

But it was too late.

A pulse of magic burst from Gideon’s chest, a last-ditch spell, chaotic and furious. It threw Keegan back ten feet.

When the dust cleared, Gideon was gone.

But the hall was quiet.

Keegan staggered to his feet, every inch of him shaking, every breath rasping.

But he was alive.

And as he looked at me, eyes still glowing faintly, I saw it again.

That look.

That choice.

He’d fought like that, not for glory.

But for me.

And as I rushed toward him, heart in pieces, footsteps echoing down the battered hall, I knew we’d won this round.

But the war?

Had only just begun.

Until—

“Maeve! Maeve! You’re going to want to see this!”

Twobble’s voice shot through the magic haze like a pebble skipping across water. Sharp, high-pitched, and distinctly goblin-y.

I spun toward the corridor from which his voice came. Stella turned, too, still on edge. Her wand pulsed, ready to react to the next ripple of dark magic, but Twobble’s voice didn’t carry danger.

It carried something else.

Excitement.

And Skonk’s blur zipped above us an instant later. “Hurry up! You’re missing the whole sparkle-twinkled moment!”

“Twobble—” I called, moving fast now, my boots skidding slightly on cracked stone. “What is it? What’s happened?”

He popped out from behind a toppled sconce, breathless and jittery, cheeks glowing green with the effort it took to keep still.

“We didn’t want to interrupt,” Twobble said, eyes darting back toward something behind him. “What with the whole epic showdown, moonlight flaring, curses humming, wolves and warlocks clawing each other to pieces… Skonk tried to tell you earlier, but…”

“Twobble,” I said sharply. “What. Happened?”

Skonk dropped from the ceiling like a puffball caught on a breeze and landed beside him with a huff. “He means we found something. Or rather, someone.”

And that’s when Twobble’s already wide eyes glistened, and his grin stretched ear to ear.

Everything around me dropped away. The stone. The shouts. The sound of my heartbeat pounding through my ears.

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s here,” Twobble said, stepping aside now. “And he’s not barking anymore.”

The little goblin puffed out his chest, like he’d been guarding something precious behind his small frame.

And there, just beyond them, standing in the warm, flickering light of a cracked stained-glass window, was a man.

Tall.

Familiar.

Eyes the same bright green as mine, weathered and kind.

He looked both strange and entirely right. Like someone who’d been missing from every family photo, every memory, and finally stepped into his rightful place.

“Dad?” My voice broke in the middle.

He smiled, softly, carefully, the way you might smile at something so delicate you were afraid your breath might break it.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

I stumbled forward, my legs suddenly made of feathers. And then I was in his arms. Not around fur and squishy bulldog shoulders, but real arms, strong and warm. His embrace wrapped around me, anchoring me more than any spell ever could.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered into his coat. “How? When?”

My chest seized.

His green eyes met mine. The same ones I’d stared into as a little girl. Eyes that once belonged to a cursed bulldog, only they were brown then.

Eyes that now belonged to my father as a human.

He stood straight, his posture tentative but proud, a hint of disbelief playing behind his warm smile. The edges of his hair were touched with gray, his jaw lined with quiet strength. His shirt was too big, likely what he had been wearing the night he turned, but he looked whole. He looked free.

“Dad?” I whispered again.

He held me just as tight.

“I don’t understand,” I said against his shoulder.

He pulled back slightly, his voice thick with awe. “I felt something… shift. Like the curse holding me snapped. I could breathe deeply again. Think again. I changed back. We were in the Wilds out back when it happened.”

“Do you remember what it was like as a dog?”

“All of it.” He smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Every moment in that body. Every bark. Every time I tried to warn you.”

Twobble made a sound like he might burst. “This is the happiest moment of my life, and I once discovered an entire barrel of wild cherry tarts in the pantry.”

Stella handed Skonk a handkerchief.

Skonk dabbed at his eyes. “I said it was dust. It’s still dust. Allergies.”

I turned and caught Stella watching us, her lips parted in awe.

“The curse,” I said softly, “It’s unraveling, isn’t it?”

She gave a slow nod. “Piece by piece. This proves it. Transformations this rooted in old magic don’t just reverse. Something’s been undone. You’ve shaken the foundation.”

My dad let out a soft laugh. “Feels like the ground knows it too. I can hear it. The Academy is breathing again.”

I stepped back, just enough to see him fully. Another laugh escaped me, relief and astonishment wrapped in joy.

For the first time in what felt like years, something good had stuck.

And in that glowing pocket of wonder, with Twobble and Skonk dancing in small circles and Stella smiling through tears, I knew something was coming alive again.

The Academy was waking.

The curse wasn’t broken, but it was bending.

Nova walked over, slowing as she took in the scene. She blinked, as if shaken from a reverie. “If a transformation as deep as that one was undone, then yes… the magic is shifting. Cracks are forming. That doesn’t mean the curse is broken, not yet. But something big is changing.”

Skonk zipped upward again, twirling midair like a leaf caught in a good mood. “And I saw it! I saw the moment it happened! One blink—poof!—no more wrinkly tail, and his ears were no longer on top of his head.”

Twobble hopped in place. “And his nose wasn’t all squashed and wet anymore, which I do admit was an improvement.”

My dad gave them both an amused smile. “I did snore terribly.”

“You howled in your sleep,” Twobble corrected.

“That too.”

The corridor felt different now. Softer somehow. Not completely safe, not yet, but lit with something I hadn’t felt in days.

Hope.

Keegan stood just inside the threshold of the corridor, barely lit by the broken stained-glass window.

The wolf had receded, but his presence still towered.

Blood streaked his jaw. His knuckles were raw.

And still, he looked steady. Alive. My eyes traced the curve of his ribs where the battle had bruised him, and I wanted nothing more than to run to him and fold myself into that solid strength. But someone else moved first.

My father stepped toward him.

Keegan stiffened, ever so slightly, unsure.

But then my dad extended a hand.

“You’ve been protecting her,” he said, voice steady and warm. “And not just her. Celeste. This town. My family. Me.”

Keegan looked down at the offered hand. “I did what anyone would’ve.”

My dad gave a dry chuckle. “Son, I’ve been a bulldog for years. I’ve seen what most people do when faced with fear and shadow. You didn’t run. You stayed. That matters. You’re not most people.”

Keegan took the hand, and for a moment their grips locked, not as a challenge, but as something older, like they both understood the weight of what had passed between them without needing to name it.

“Thank you,” my dad said again. “For keeping them whole while I couldn’t.”

Keegan nodded once, then, almost sheepishly, pulled him into a short hug. Brief. But honest.

And just like that, my breath came easier.

The ache in my chest softened as I watched them step apart. My heart steadied its pace. For the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for the next blow.

I still didn’t know what was coming next. The curse hadn’t broken, not fully. I could feel its presence like an old bruise deep under the surface, still pulsing.

But something had shifted.

Keegan turned toward me, and my dad followed, both of them watching with expressions I didn’t deserve and couldn’t bear to lose.

And in that moment, I knew the tide had turned.

The curse was still alive.

But so were we.

And something new was stirring in its place.

Twobble sniffled again, then pretended to adjust his scarf. “Well, this is all lovely and mystical and weepy, but I’d like to point out that there’s still a very nasty man flinging dark clouds around and the Moonbeam won’t be back for a very long time.”