-Varu'kan-

Night folds around me like a cloak of black silk

and the world holds its breath as I step between the trees.

The darkness knows my name,

the wind carries it like a sacret oath.

In my palm, I summon a flame,

small, trembling, defiant.

A shard of the first fire that ever burned.

Its light flickers across my skin,

soft at first… then hungry.

I raise it,

and the flame answers.

It winds up my arm in curls of molten gold,

wrapping me in heat and shadow,

testing the shape of the man I wear.

It burns with purpose,

with recognition,

with an older truth than flesh.

I do not resist.

Fire climbs my ribs,

my spine,

my throat,

and with each breath it strips away my skin

revealing the wild beneath.

My bones shift.

My heartbeat deepens.

My vision blooms into the dark like a rising storm.

The antler crown I wear, proud and strong,

not of bone but living fire,

branching outward like the root of ancient trees.

And the forest stirs,

whispers, trembles, howls.

From the final burst of flame

I emerge transformed,

the Stag reborn,

the hunter and the hunted in one breath,

fur shimmering with embers,

eyes lit with the fierce calm of the wild.

I walk the night in wild disguise once more,

the boundary broken,

the veil undone.

Not man.

Not beast.

But the fire-wrought truth that lies between.