The cave's silence was deeper than night.
Jackie stood at the mouth of the ancient grotto, the cold mountain air at his back. Within, dim firelight flickered against stone walls etched with symbols older than any tribal song. The hermit-mystic, draped in wolfskins and ash markings, raised a wrinkled hand and beckoned Jackie forward. Yara remained behind, her silhouette barely visible against the purple dusk.
"This is where fear is born and burned," the hermit said. His voice was wind over bone.
Jackie stepped inside. The fire within was low, smoldering beneath a ring of cracked stones. Beyond the flames yawned a dark passage, lined with copper-framed mirrors that shimmered faintly, as though catching light from another world.
"You seek power," the hermit said, his clouded eyes fixed on Jackie. "But power lies buried beneath truth. In this hall, you will face yours."
Jackie gave a respectful nod and pressed his fingers to the Heartstone beneath his tunic. The carved relic pulsed faintly against his skin, a steady thrum like a distant drumbeat.
The hermit turned and vanished into the smoke.
The corridor narrowed as Jackie advanced. The temperature fell with each step. Mist coiled along the floor, wrapping his boots in silver fingers. Reflections danced in the mirrors on either side of him, but none remained still.
In one mirror, Jackie saw his mother screaming, her hut engulfed in Karus fire.
He lurched back.
In another, he saw Taavo bleeding in the snow, lips blue, reaching toward Jackie with a trembling hand.
"No," Jackie muttered, clenching his fists. "These are lies."
The reflections rippled.
He tried to steady his breath, but his heartbeat thudded in his ears. A third mirror showed Yara with a knife to her throat, weeping, while Karus warriors laughed.
He stepped toward it instinctively.
The smoke thickened. The cave's air pressed down like a hand against his chest. All mirrors now lit at once. In each, a different scene of pain and failure. A thousand moments where he had not been strong enough.
The final image stopped him cold.
In the mirror directly ahead, Jackie stood alone on a black plain, surrounded by a horizon of roaring flame. A great red beast with burning eyes loomed over him. It had his face.
The image spoke. "You are not worthy. You will burn like the rest."
Jackie fell to one knee.
His limbs were heavy. The Heartstone flared against his chest, and he saw himself trembling, broken, a child again before his father's grave.
"Leave," the voice of the hermit echoed from nowhere and everywhere. "Unless you wish to be consumed."
Jackie groaned.
Fear was real. So was weakness. But so was fire.
He gritted his teeth and whispered the breathing pattern Rahu once taught him by the wolf-circle: inhale on memory, exhale on truth. He focused.
Inhale. His mother's eyes.
Exhale. She lived. She taught him to survive.
Inhale. Taavo's fall.
Exhale. They bled together, they endured.
Inhale. Yara's scream.
Exhale. She is here, alive, with him.
Jackie rose to his feet. "These fears are mine," he said aloud, voice steady. "But they do not command me."
He stepped forward.
The illusions hissed. Mirrors cracked. Smoke surged.
The hall around him seemed to dissolve into flame. The mirror with the demon-Jackie burst outward, and the fiery beast lunged.
But Jackie was ready.
He thrust his right arm out and let the fire within rise. The Heartstone burned like a sun. Wolfflame exploded from his palm, a stream of gold-white fire that met the beast head-on.
The impact rocked the cavern. The two flames danced, intertwined like wolves in battle.
Jackie shouted, the heat blistering his skin. But he did not yield.
He recalled the hermit's words: Show me your true heart.
His fire pulsed stronger. With a final cry, Jackie poured his spirit into the Wolfflame. The golden surge overtook the red demon and consumed it whole. Light filled the space. The walls dissolved.
Silence returned.
Jackie collapsed to his knees, sweat rolling down his face, chest heaving.
The mirrors were gone.
The mist faded. In its place stood the hermit.
His face was calm. Proud.
"You faced your soul," the old man said. "And chose strength over despair."
Jackie bowed, still catching his breath.
The hermit knelt beside him and drew a simple spiral in the dirt with a bone finger. "This is the Breath of Balance," he said. "A rhythm older than the tribes. Combine it with your fire. Make it yours."
He placed two fingers on Jackie's forehead. Jackie felt warmth—not searing, but steady—as if the sunrise itself had rested on him.
He closed his eyes.
Breath. Fire. Focus.
Inside him, the Wolfflame settled into a deeper rhythm.
No longer wild. Now, wielded.
When Jackie opened his eyes, he felt different.
Not just stronger—calmer. His muscles still ached, his wounds still smarted, but his center was steady, like stone under a river.
The hermit nodded once. "You are ready."
Jackie stood. In the distance, he could see Yara at the edge of the passage, her eyes wide with worry.
He walked to her, slow but sure.
She reached for him. "You were gone for hours. I heard—"
He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm alright."
She stepped back, her gaze sharpening. "Did you win?"
Jackie looked down at his palm. He summoned the Wolfflame—not a blast, but a calm blue flicker that danced without smoke.
"I didn't win. I learned."
Outside the cave, the stars were blooming across the sky.
Yara spread a cloak over a rock and began preparing dried meat and water.
Jackie sat beside her, head tilted to the heavens.
For the first time in days, there was peace.
"He said I faced my soul," Jackie murmured.
"And what did it look like?" Yara asked softly.
He didn't answer at first. "Angry. Frightened. Alone."
She took his hand. "And now?"
"Now it knows better."
The fire crackled beside them. Somewhere in the wind, wolves howled.
The hermit emerged from the cave only once more to leave them with parting words:
"The mountain never yields. But it teaches those who listen."
He vanished into shadow once more.
Later that night, as the embers died down, Jackie dreamed.
He stood once again on the black plain. But this time, there was no flame. No beast.
Only a vast emptiness. And then—footsteps.
A woman cloaked in starlight approached him, her eyes golden and ancient.
She knelt before him and pressed a glowing mark to his chest. It seared like fire and frost.
"You carry the spark," she whispered.
"But even fire obeys wisdom."
Then she was gone.
Jackie awoke in a cold sweat, the echo of her voice still curling in his mind.
Yara stirred beside him, sensing his tension. "A dream?"
"A message," Jackie replied. "From the Ancients."
The wind howled.
And far below the mountain, in the forests of the lowlands, something stirred.
Dark wings.
A gathering of crows. Watching.
Waiting.
End of Chapter 35