The fire crackled low in the Neri feast hall, casting long shadows across carved bone totems and the painted hides that draped the timber walls. A deep silence hung like smoke in the wake of the fight. Kol's betrayal had unraveled the mood of celebration into tension and uncertainty.
Jackie stood near the central hearth, his wolf-cloak heavy with ash and sweat. The warmth of his Wolfflame still pulsed faintly through his blood, settling in his limbs like a latent heat—power half-rested, yet ready. Yara knelt at his side, checking the slash across his arm. The assassin's blade had grazed him, but the blood was already clotting. She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, part relief, part fury.
"You should have let me handle him," she whispered.
Jackie shook his head. "He wasn't after you. He wanted to gut the alliance."
A booming voice cut through the low murmurs around the fire.
"Bring Kol's remains!" thundered Chief Vanu, his wolf-hide crown now removed, replaced with ceremonial black paint smeared across his brow. Two Neri warriors approached, dragging the would-be assassin's torn cloak and dagger as evidence.
But Kol was gone.
Only blood streaks remained where his body should have been.
Vanu's face twisted in rage. "The coward escapes judgment." He turned toward Jackie, lifting a hand. "But justice still finds its course. You, blood-son of the Ancients, have proven your strength."
Jackie straightened. Around him, the Neri seated at the circle of carved stone benches bowed their heads in respect. Even the elder totem-shaper, a woman bent with age and inked from jaw to fingertip in beast-glyphs, thudded her gnarled staff once against the earth.
"We accept the pact," said Vanu. "But not with words alone. Come."
Drums started again—low, ritualistic. Jackie followed Vanu to a flat altar stone near the northern fire. The air grew tense with anticipation. A young boy approached, bearing a silver bowl and two bone daggers, each etched with ancient glyphs of the wolf and sun.
Vanu took one dagger and passed the other to Jackie.
"By blood, we seal our bond. As was done in the old age of frost. As shall be done tonight."
Jackie took a breath and pressed the blade to his palm. The Heartstone around his neck pulsed as if echoing the oath. He sliced cleanly. Vanu did the same.
Together, they let their blood fall into the bowl. The totem-shaper began a chant in the old tongue, calling on the wolf spirits to witness.
Jackie stepped forward. His heart beat slower now—not from fatigue, but from gravity. He felt the weight of his people, his mother's dream, Rahu's teachings, and the flicker of the Ancients behind his eyes.
As their hands met, sealing the pact, a gust of wind stirred the fire, and the bowl between them caught flame.
Wolfflame.
The same golden-blue light Jackie had summoned days ago now leapt from the blood, licking upward in a quiet spiral of fire. It did not burn. It danced.
Gasps echoed through the hall. Even Vanu stepped back, eyes wide. "Your flame... it's alive."
Jackie stared into it, mesmerized.
And then it was gone.
The blood had vanished. The pact was sealed not just in flesh, but spirit.
Later that night, Jackie sat at the edge of the Neri chieftain's longhouse, away from the drums and the slow reawakening of celebration. The stars blinked down through pine branches, and a thick mist rolled across the glade.
Yara sat beside him, silent for a while.
"You nearly died again," she said, folding her arms. "That's twice in one moon."
"I keep good odds."
"That's not funny."
Jackie smiled faintly, then turned serious. "This alliance matters, Yara. Even if some among them were compromised. The Karus knew we'd reach out. They tried to sow fear and distrust. We can't let that win."
She nodded. "Still... next time, let me take the knife."
From the shadows came soft padding steps. A small creature nosed into the firelight—it was a wolf-hound pup, barely the size of Jackie's thigh. Its fur was silver-black, its eyes amber. It looked up at Jackie and tilted its head.
Yara laughed. "I think it likes you."
Behind the pup, Vanu appeared, walking with the totem-shaper. He gestured at the beast. "A gift. To carry your blood-oath in living form. We call her Teya. She is swift, loyal, and was born under the Storm Fang moon."
Jackie reached down slowly, letting the pup sniff his hand.
She licked his fingers.
"Thank you," Jackie said. He scratched behind her ear and felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest—something more than just fondness. There was a connection. Not just a pet. A bond.
The totem-shaper leaned close and whispered in a rasp, "Mark her well, flame-bearer. Her blood sings to yours."
They left the Neri lands at dawn.
The mists parted slowly through the forest trail, revealing trunks etched with claw marks and bone-fused trees that creaked in the wind like sentinels. Teya trotted at Jackie's heels, alert but quiet. Yara walked beside him, bow slung across her back.
Jackie glanced at her. "Do you think they'll honor the oath?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then: "Yes. Chief Vanu would rather die than break a ritual oath. But not all his people are like him."
Jackie nodded. The memory of Kol's gleaming blade still haunted his mind. He'd felt it—more than just steel—there was poison in that strike, spiritual poison. The kind meant to corrupt, not just kill.
He rubbed his palm where the blood-oath cut had healed. Already, only a faint scar remained, shaped like a crescent.
That night, they reached the edge of the highlands. The stars above were clearer now, no longer veiled by Neri mist. Jackie built a fire beneath an old stone ridge. Teya curled at his feet, tail twitching. He stared into the flame, its flickers mirroring the ember that now lived inside him.
Yara sat across from him, watching.
"You've changed."
"How so?"
"Since the Heartstone awakened. Since the Wolfflame. You carry yourself like a chief."
Jackie looked down. "I don't feel like one."
"Good. That's what makes you ready."
She tossed something across the fire. Jackie caught it—a small leather charm. Etched on it were two sigils: a wolf and a flame, interlocked.
"It's... us," she said quietly. "Our strength. Our promise."
Jackie's throat tightened. He looked at her, and something unspoken passed between them—something warmer than any fire.
He tied the charm around his wrist.
Teya gave a small, approving yip.
They returned to the main valley on the third day.
Rahu was waiting at the outer path, flanked by warriors and elders. The moment Jackie stepped into view, the old shaman's eyes locked onto his. A subtle nod passed between them.
In the central circle, fires were lit for the evening gathering. News had traveled fast—whispers of betrayal, a sacred pact, and a flame that danced from blood.
The tribe gathered to hear Jackie's report. He stood before them with Teya at his heel and Yara at his side.
"The Neri have sworn blood-oath," Jackie announced. "They will fight with us."
Murmurs rippled.
"But they were infiltrated," Jackie continued. "The Karus sent poison into their midst. An assassin nearly took my life."
Gasps.
"He failed."
Cheers.
Jackie raised a hand for silence. "This alliance was won not by blade alone, but by fire and faith. We are not just fighting a war of spears. This is a war for the soul of the tribes."
Rahu stepped forward. His voice was slow, reverent. "The fire of the wolf has awakened. We now see what the Ancients meant. Not a weapon. A beacon."
Drums began again.
That night, as the tribe celebrated, Jackie slipped away to the totem ridge above the cliffs. The stars were fierce and cold.
He held the Heartstone in one hand, Teya sitting quietly beside him. Its surface pulsed once, and Jackie closed his eyes.
A voice—not a word, not a tongue, but a sensation—echoed through him. The Ancients stirred.
He saw firelight on ice. A throne of obsidian. A wolf howling under a blood moon. And a shadow rising behind the stars.
Jackie opened his eyes.
The world was changing.
And he was at its center.
End of chapter 33