As the last of the white limestone dust was purged from the deep recesses of the bone, a sudden, miraculous change took hold of the horrific wound. The blackened, dead tissue along the edge of the jagged stump began to soften, losing its calcified rigor and turning into a deep, liquid crimson that pulsed in structural rhythm with the heavy beating of the alpha's heart.
From the absolute center of the exposed bone marrow, a thick, silver-blue light began to ooze outward. This was no delicate spell or artificial enchantment; it was the raw, uncompromised frequency of the Lunar Regeneration—a primal, cellular sovereignty that belonged exclusively to the high Alphas of the northern wilderness.
