The night sky cracked open like a sacred seal.
Jackie stood beside the campfire's dying embers, Yara at his side, as the villagers whispered around them. The wind carried embers from communal torches—smoke-laced currents that tangled with their clothes and hair. Above, the sky was lacquered black, punctured only by the distant glow of stars. But then, a ribbon of red light seared across the heavens, too bright and wide to be a star's path. The tribesmen gasped. Hunters raised their heads, their bows forgotten—arrows rattled loose in quivers.
"By the Ancients..." one murmured.
A hunter echoed, bow in hand. "Fire-star."
Jackie's pulse quickened. The comet's tail burnt scarlet across the sky, trailing sparks like molten embers. He gripped Yara's hand. His heart thundered. This wasn't a sign of war or drought. It was the falling star of prophecy—the omen Rahu had once whispered about: "A sky-borne flame to mark the god-wolves' return."
He stepped forward, raising his voice with the calm steadiness learned atop Sacred Peak.
"Gather here!" he called. Voices hushed. Only the crackling fire and distant wind answered. "Look!"
They all stared upward as the red comet passed in front of the moon—then fragmented in a fierce burst of rubescent flame. The sky rippled with streaks of light, and a collective tremor shook the ring of stones around the fire pit. The earth trilled beneath their feet—a temptation of the ground itself.
Jackie breathed deeply, sensing the ground's vibration resonate with his own heartbeat. The Heartstone at his chest glowed for an instant, pulsing once, twice, in tandem with the tremor.
"It has fallen," he said quietly, "on the Northern Ridge."
The villagers exchanged looks: fear, wonder, excitement. The omen had come, and with it, the question: What now?
Jackie's mind accelerated—trials, alliances, battles. None had prepared him for this.
He realized his immediate objective: to reach the impact site, understand what had come from the sky, and ensure it wasn't a new threat—or a gift.
But there was no time to hesitate. The tribes had to stand at the ready.
Goal Unattained: Jackie needed to uncover the nature of the Falling Star—what it brought, why it shattered prophecy, and what it meant for the Ancients' return.
Within moments, Jackie had rallied a select party. Yara, of course, though still cut and covered from mountain stone, insisted on coming. Kaden, the archer whose rivalry with Jackie had blossomed into respect, stepped forward—his bow at the ready. Thistle, the wolf-hound pup, bounded ahead, nose low, already sensing a scent of magic.
Others included Taavo's son Jeren, still bandaged but eager to fight alongside his hero, and two Neri scouts who've come at Jackie's request. Rahu remained at the village to guide the broader defense, sending wind omens as they departed.
The procession moved out, guided by ember-light lanterns, the red afterglow still painting the low clouds. Wolves howled in the distance—an eerie echo of Acknowledgement or an Feral Warning. Jackie paused and closed his eyes.
A power beat: The Heartstone pulsed, bursting with golden warmth, infusing the scout's pack with unexpected light. Jackie tucked it beneath his tunic, but there was no denying its power.
They climbed through silver grasses and boulder-strewn slopes. Sparks of residual magic hung in the air—tiny glimmers that winked and died as they breeched around branches. Smoke drifted low, swirling gold and red in torchlight.
Jackie stayed aware of his troop. Yara scanned the elevations, Kaden's arrow nocked, Jeren close, trembling yet determined. Thistle darted ahead, then back with a mournful bark.
Down ahead, the ridge opened above a bowl-shaped clearing. A scarlet glow pulsed at its center. As they approached, the wind carried the scent of ozone and ash.
The crater's edges were rimmed with blackened earth, still steaming. Crackling burnt leaves lay in the crater's base. Sparks drifted upward like fireflies, but each one drifted then vanished.
At the center lay a massive obelisk of metal—deep bronze but shimmering bright, shaped like a wolf-snout or ancient spearhead. It was plugged nose-first into the earth, shaft disappearing into shadow. Red cracks marbled its surface, pulsing with internal heat.
Jackie stepped forward. His boots crunched on cinder. The ground hummed beneath him like a drum of power. He placed a hand on the bronze—impossibly warm to touch.
His Mind rattled—visions tasting salt, fire, wind. A wolf howling under twin moons. A throne of stone atop distant mountains. The Ancients?
He swallowed, voice husky. "This is not debris... it's intentional."
Yara flanked him. Kaden kept watch. Rahu's wind-whisper voice popped inside Jackie's memory. "Read it, boy. Don't just fear it."
Jackie bent, drawing a circle in ash—ritual doodles taught by Rahu. He studied the obelisk, placing wolfstone and ember-charcoal alongside it. The Heartstone on his chest pulsed again, stronger.
He Breathed: Balanced inhale, calm exhale.
A warmth radiated from him into the metal. Sparks traced the carved ornamentation—wolf-head motif across the bronze. Then, a sound—like a growl emanating from within.
Red veins along the obelisk glowed brighter. It shivered the earth. The villagers gasped.
Jackie backed away. "Everyone—stand back, but remain aware."
He raised his hands. A silent chant of the old Tongue formed in his mind, rhythm riding the Breath of Balance. Flame flickered across his palms, not strong, but warming. He extended toward the obelisk.
Yara's eyes shone. "We're ready."
He inhaled sharply, the Heartstone glowed again as his wolfflamed breath brushed the obelisk's face. The metal's red cracks pulsed in return.
Suddenly, the ground outside the crater split—fast and sharp. A narrow fissure emitted scorching air. Sparks shot like fireflies from below.
Jackie braced himself on a rock. Behind him, Kaden yanked back an arrow; Yara's blade glinted silver. But Jackie held up a hand.
He spoke softly: "It calls for balance."
He inched forward and placed a single palm to the fissure's edge. The Breath of Balance shivered in his lungs—the power he himself willed across crack and scar, and calm. The fissure stilled. Sparks died down.
Everyone exhaled. The earth tilted, then stilled, calm as stone.
Jackie stood tall again. The obelisk gleamed quietly now—still warm, like a living heart.
He spoke with resolve. "We bring this home. It's a message. A key. A gift."
But just then, the obelisk trembled once more—and the runes along its length began to glow golden.
End of Chapter 37