The wind had teeth tonight.
Cold gusts ripped through the forest canopy like invisible claws, carrying the scent of pine resin, damp moss, and something darker—burnt pitch, charred bark… and blood not yet spilled.
Jackie crouched on a stone ridge high above the Vale of Smoke, heart thudding like a tribal drumbeat. Below him, the forest sprawled in tangled shadow, but far off across the hills, firelight flickered—three plumes, equidistant, burning with unnatural steadiness.
Not beacon fires.
War signals.
Karus.
He clenched the haft of his spear tighter, the Heartstone pressing warm against his chest. Behind him, the Redcliff scouting party waited—five youths dressed in leather and bone, faces smeared with ash to blend into night. Among them: Yara, ever-silent, her bow strung tight; Kaden, arms crossed, watching Jackie as if daring him to fail; Toran, the broad-shouldered butcher with a war-club slung over his back; and twin siblings Mira and Niko, barely older than cubs but sharp-eyed and eager.
Jackie stood, ears tuned to the stillness of the vale.
"They're marking territory," Yara whispered at his shoulder. "We're inside their hunting line."
"No," Kaden muttered. "They're not hunting. They're invading."
Jackie said nothing. He'd known this was coming. The elders had whispered for moons about Karus unrest, but this—this open show of aggression—was a line crossed.
"We need to return," Kaden pressed. "Warn the council. Gather strength."
"No," Jackie said. His voice was low but steady. "If they're scouting, we can't let them chart the land. They disappear now, we lose the chance to track them. We strike first."
Kaden scoffed. "Strike? Who made you war-chief?"
"No one," Jackie said, meeting his rival's eyes. "But I earned this mission. You can follow or walk back alone."
Toran gave a grunting chuckle. "I'll follow the one whose hands still smell of victory."
Yara simply nodded.
Kaden spat into the dirt but said no more.
Jackie exhaled, lowering into a crouch. "Down the vale. Quiet. We shadow them through the briar line. Stay sharp. They won't be alone."
Night in the Vale was thick and wet. Mist clung to the roots, wrapping around ankles like dead fingers. Crows muttered in their sleep. Every snapped twig echoed like a crack of bone.
Jackie led them by scent and instinct. The Wolfflame in him stirred—an ancestral thread winding through his blood, honed by generations of forest-hunters and fire-dancers. He smelled the Karus before he saw them—iron, sweat, and the sharp tang of bloodroot salve.
They moved with arrogance through the trees, unaware they were being tracked.
Five of them. Broad-shouldered, cloaked in dark leather stitched with red bone patterns. One wore a half-mask of painted steel, and another carried a club so massive it looked forged to break not just bone—but legacy.
Jackie signaled. Fingers down, silent breath. The scouts halted.
Yara raised her bow.
Let it begin, Jackie thought.
The arrow flew—silent, perfect. The first Karus fell with a gurgled gasp.
Chaos.
Toran bellowed a war-cry and charged. Mira and Niko flanked right, cutting off escape. Kaden muttered something under his breath—Jackie caught the glow of flame dance along the edge of his blade.
Jackie moved with the storm, spear flashing.
The Karus leader turned toward him—a mountain of a man, teeth bared, club raised high.
"You look like him," the brute growled in accented tongue. "Same yellow eyes. Same arrogance."
Jackie froze mid-step.
The man knew his father.
"You knew Garun?" Jackie said.
"I killed him," the man said, grinning.
The world tilted.
Then the club came down.
Jackie barely dove in time. The ground cracked where he'd stood. He rolled and struck—his spear grazed leather, drew shallow blood. The Karus laughed and came again, smashing the club like thunder.
"You're not him," the brute spat. "Just a cub in his skin."
Jackie gritted his teeth, channeling his bloodline. The wolf howled within. The fire surged beneath his ribs.
The Heartstone pulsed.
Now.
Jackie dodged left, then dropped to one knee, thrusting the spear upward into the Karus's side. A shout—pain, not death.
The brute swung wildly. Jackie ducked, then howled—his own blood answering the call. A flash of fire burst along his spear's length. The flames curled not outward—but inward, white-hot tendrils lacing down his forearms, feeding his senses.
Wolfflame.
The Heartstone shone gold-white at his chest. Jackie didn't think. He moved.
He struck low, rolled beneath a second blow, then leapt—using the brute's weight against him—and tackled him into the earth.
The man slammed down hard, breath lost.
Jackie drove the spear to the throat—but paused.
His muscles tensed. Fire crackled around him.
"Do it," the Karus hissed. "Or I'll return and finish what I started."
Jackie snarled. "Tell your warlord the tribes are not broken. The Blood of the Wolf hunts again."
He rose, letting the man wheeze in the mud.
By the time the fighting ended, three Karus were dead, one captured, one fled.
Yara cleaned her blade in silence. Toran clutched a wound across his shoulder, muttering about Karus steel being too brittle. Mira and Niko sat watch over the bound survivor.
Kaden approached Jackie, arms folded.
"You should've killed him."
"I made a choice," Jackie said.
"You made a mistake."
Jackie stared at him. "We needed them to send a message. That's what I did."
Kaden's eyes narrowed. "We're not warlords yet, Champion."
He walked off into the mist.
Yara came to Jackie's side a moment later, brushing a bloodstreaked braid from her face.
"He's not wrong," she said gently. "But you're not wrong either."
Jackie said nothing. The fire in his veins had cooled, but the anger simmered still.
His father's killer… alive.
And he had let him go.
That night, they made camp beneath a bent willow near the Vale's edge. They lit no fire—only whispered to the dark, sharpening weapons by touch and moonlight.
Jackie sat apart from the others, legs crossed, eyes fixed skyward.
The stars wheeled silently above, uncaring.
He held the Heartstone in his palm.
It still pulsed. Not bright now, but warm, steady. Like a heartbeat.
He thought of Rahu's words: The blood is the path. But you must walk it.
He had walked it tonight. And left a message in blood.
But his heart was heavy.
He should have felt triumph.
Instead, all he felt was weight.
So this is war.
Yara approached again, crouching beside him. She smelled of forest and blood and ash. A familiar comfort.
"You were a flame tonight," she said. "Fierce and alive."
Jackie chuckled, low. "I still feel like smoke."
She looked at him seriously. "You gave us hope. You gave me hope."
She touched the Heartstone gently.
"I think it answers because you care. That's not weakness."
Their hands lingered a breath longer than needed.
Then she stood, leaving Jackie alone beneath the stars.
He didn't sleep.
When his eyes did close, visions came.
A black mountain split with flame. A crowned wolf standing atop a burning tree. And a voice—deep, ancient, and slow as glacier-melt—whispering:
When flame meets fang… the Ancients shall wake.
End of Chapter 20