Cora, breathless from keeping pace with Roger's long strides, finally caught up with him and Rafe.

"Rude," she said, stopping beside them. "Couldn't you have waited for me?"

Roger raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I'm being rude? Cora, you've been unpleasant since we entered the forest—"

Cora opened her mouth to protest, but Roger rolled his eyes and continued, ignoring her. "This is supposed to be a sacred experience for Rafe and for us, and you've done nothing but moan and complain. So, forgive me if I wanted a moment to concentrate on the magic of this place."

"Oh, whatever," Cora mumbled, reaching for the baby.

"No way," Roger retorted, holding the baby closer. "You don't get to hold the baby now that we're at the pool."

"Yes, I do!" Cora cried. "The priestess gave him to me!"

"I'm his godparent, too."

Suddenly, the pool's light flared, startling Roger and Cora. They both gasped, sensing the pool—or its magic—was irritated.

"Sorry," Cora murmured, stepping closer, embarrassed. She hadn't realized their behavior was being watched.

Roger apologized as well, approaching the edge. They exchanged a look, united in their surprise. They were both aware of the world's magic, but its blatant presence could be unnerving.

Cora took a deep breath, then began the priestess's words:

"Goddess," she said, her voice ringing across the silver pool. "We bring to you, tonight, this child, so that he may begin to know you."

"We wish to show him your light, and in doing so, let you see him and bring him into the spirit of your grace," Roger added, his resonant voice sending shivers down Cora's spine. The pool's light brightened, slowly, as if listening.

Looking up through the trees, Cora saw the full moon. Hey, Mom, she thought, her heart racing, her stomach twisting with emotion. Her mother was here, ready to meet her grandchild. She could feel it.

Even Rafe began to open his eyes. Though his vision wasn't fully developed, he was curious. Cora held out her hands, and this time Roger handed her the baby, letting her unwrap him. Then, they slowly walked to the pool's edge and held Rafe over the water.

Moonlight streamed down, growing brighter. Cora's heart swelled as she watched Rafe look up at the sky, surrounded by light from the moon and its reflection in the pool.

"He is called Rafe Sinclair," Roger said softly. "His parents, Ella and Dominic, have asked us to bring him here to dedicate him to you. We do so in their name."

Cora smiled, looking at the baby, Roger, and the moonlight. It was a beautiful moment. She opened her mouth to apologize to Roger and express her gratitude, when she saw something in the moonlight.

She gasped, afraid, but Roger steadied her.

"Don't pull the baby back," he said, peering into the moonlight. "If you do, we won't be able to see…"

Cora held Rafe out, her arms trembling, watching the story unfold in the air. It wasn't a visual projection; it was felt as much as seen, communicated to their hearts and minds. Then, it became perfectly clear.

She saw a tall boy with warm green eyes helping a dark-haired girl who had fallen, brushing tears from her face. Then, she saw him older, running across a battlefield, courageous despite his fear. Quickly, she saw him again with the girl, now older, laughing. Somehow, she sensed the girl, like her, had no wolf.

Then, she saw Rafe—wearing a crown, placing another on the girl's head. She smiled at him with love. The room's door burst open, revealing his family: Sinclair, Ella, more children, a light-haired boy Rafe's age, and many more.

Rafe was embraced by his family, laughing and hugging him and the girl. Cora knew Rafe would be a great leader, guided by love, a love sustained by this girl. She knew Rafe would meet his mate, and she would be…

Human.

Cora gasped, tears filling her eyes. The moonlight faded, returning to its natural hue. She held Rafe close and turned to Roger, who looked at her with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Did you see it?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied.

"He will love her," Roger said, shaking his head, his eyes full of love. "And it won't matter to him—not at all—"

Cora cried, holding her nephew. Her nephew, whose life, with its great love and pain, lay ahead. She tried to speak to Roger, but no words came. She simply rested her head against him and cried.

How could this two-week-old baby hold so much wisdom? How had he given her such a gift?

Roger's arms enveloped them, warm and steady. He held her close, kissing her hair. He let her cry, letting her process the experience. When she was calmer, she looked up at him, ready to thank him.

Before she could speak, Roger kissed her.