Morning After – February 2005POV: Kira (then Ren)
Kira
The first thing she felt was cold stone against her back.
Then came the ache — not sharp, but deep, in her bones, her muscles, in the curve of her hips and the back of her neck. Like she'd sprinted for miles. Like she'd fallen from a great height and landed softly but still felt the impact.
Her eyes opened to low, dappled light — soft silver bleeding in through a crack in the cave ceiling above. There was movement in the air, the scent of pine and damp moss, and something else. Someone else.
She lifted her head slowly, hair spilling over her bare shoulders.
Her breath caught.
There, sleeping quietly on his side beside her, was Ren.
Also naked. Also still.
And suddenly, all the fragments of the night slammed into her skull like a runaway train.
Pain. Bones snapping. Shadows moving with her steps. A white tiger — him — approaching in the moonlight. Their bodies meeting, pressing close. Heat. Instinct. Trust.
She covered her mouth with her hand. Her fingers trembled.
She wasn't just sore. She was… changed. She remembered being something else. Feeling something else. And it hadn't been a dream.
Kira stared at him — at Ren — lying so still, one arm tucked under his head, the other curled toward his chest. His brows were relaxed, lips parted slightly. A faint streak of dirt across his temple. His chest rising and falling steadily.
Something stirred inside her — panic, awe, confusion. And under it all… a strange sadness.
She reached for her clothes blindly, fumbling in the half-light. Her hoodie, miraculously intact, was draped over a nearby rock. Her leggings were damp with dew, but wearable. She dressed quickly, moving with shaky, urgent hands.
When she stood, the air felt different. The forest hummed just beyond the cave's mouth — not menacing, but alive.
She didn't look back.
She ran.
And every stride felt too fast, too fluid. Like her body had learned something new and now refused to forget.
Ren
The silence was the first thing he noticed.
It wasn't human silence. Not the kind found in a house or classroom. This was deep — the silence of untouched earth, of wild places where things lived and died without anyone knowing.
He blinked, groggy.
The cave ceiling loomed above, its stone walls slick with condensation. Cool air filtered in gently.
He was lying on his side.
And he was—
He sat up slowly.
Naked. Bruised. Scratched along one forearm. His hands were dirty, fingers twitching with muscle memory. His chest rose and fell too fast. The cave around him blurred, then refocused.
Memories came like distant thunder.Running.The moon.Pain.White fur.A shadow beside him.Eyes in the dark — violet, knowing.
He looked beside him.
She was gone.
Only the faintest warmth remained on the stone. A smear of shadow where her body had pressed close. And in his hand — clutched tight even in sleep — a single strand of black fur, smooth and warm and fine as silk.
Ren stared at it.
She'd been real. Not a dream. Not some fever-fueled hallucination.
Kira.
He didn't chase her. Even as his instincts urged him to. Even as something inside howled to follow, to find. Instead, he sat back, exhaled slowly, and let the silence settle into him again.
His body felt alien — like he was wearing new skin over old bones.
Muscles he hadn't known he had ached. His senses still buzzed, picking up the flicker of birdsong, the scent of earth, the faintest metallic pulse in the dirt beneath his feet.
It was real.
All of it.
And something fundamental had shifted.
Later – Ren's Home
He walked the trail back barefoot, dressed only in what remained of his torn t-shirt slung over his shoulder. The wind bit at his skin. He didn't care.
The mansion loomed like a quiet monument at the edge of the trees. His workshop's side door was unlocked, as always. He slipped in, walked past the covered Dodge without looking at it, and went straight to the mirror in the corner utility bathroom.
The face that stared back was familiar… and not.
His dark hair was damp with mist. A shallow scratch trailed from his collarbone to his sternum. His jaw was bruised, like he'd been hit. But it was his eyes that made him stop breathing.
For just a flicker — a heartbeat — his irises weren't dark brown.
They glowed faintly, soft and pale, like white fire edged with gold.
Then gone.
He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white.
"What… are we now?" he whispered to no one.
There was no fear in his voice.
Just quiet, awed understanding.
Meanwhile – Kira's Room
Kira sat in the corner of her bedroom, hoodie still pulled tight around her despite the warmth of the morning.
Her aunt was downstairs making tea, unaware of anything unusual. The normality of it all felt absurd — like the world had continued without recognizing what had just changed beneath its feet.
She hadn't spoken a word since she returned.
She hadn't slept, either.
Her legs still buzzed. Her fingers twitched. Her skin still felt too tight for her body. Her breath came too sharp, too easy. Like she wasn't just a girl anymore — like something else had taken root in her bones.
And then she saw it.
On the window frame.
Faint. Rough.
Four parallel gouges, cut deep into the wood, trailing downward like claws.
Her heart stopped.
She got up slowly, reached out, and ran her fingertips over them.
Rough. Splintered.
Real.
She didn't remember making them.
But she knew she had.
Kira leaned her forehead against the cool glass, staring out into the trees that loomed just beyond the house.
Somewhere out there, he had woken up too.