There's a wolf scratching at the door. Its claws are self-knowledge, and its teeth are understanding. It's two days since Light found the book.

Every night, he studies, wren-fast, then writes names until his fingers scream. He can't sleep. He picks at his food. His eyes widen and brighten as his fears and conflicts deepen. On the fourth fraught morning without sleep, blinded by the sunrise, he finally sees the shape of his calling. He's remaking the world, with a god's power, and what does that make him?

The wolf is still there, but Light can't hear it any longer.