A cold mist clung to the morning slopes as Jackie climbed the ridge above Wolffang Hollow. The land lay heavy with silence—not the stillness of peace, but of things held in breath before battle. Smoke still coiled faintly from last night's fires, rising in delicate tendrils above the village palisade. Jackie's hands rested on the haft of his spear, eyes scanning eastward.
He spotted them first by their banners: the jagged red claw of the Karus tribe, and beside it, the crude bone-skull glyph of the eastern hill bandits. Together, the symbols fluttered in grim unity, carried atop spears by a warband larger than before.
His jaw clenched. "They've allied," he murmured. "Karus and Bone-Rats. Blood and rot together."
Behind him, Yara emerged from the brush, her bow slung over one shoulder, her braid soaked with dew. "The elders need to see this."
They descended quickly.
By midmorning, the ridge buzzed with activity. Warriors reinforced the wooden palisades, sharpening stakes, fletching arrows, stringing hunting traps along the lower slope. Elders burned sage near the bone-totem to call on ancestral strength. Even the old wolf-priest Gann stirred from his den of moss and antlers to whisper chants under his breath.
Jackie stood with Yara on the west rampart, where archers kept vigil. Sweat streaked his brow despite the chill. The Heartstone throbbed beneath his tunic like a second pulse. He could feel its warmth stirring—waiting.
Kaden limped past, wrapped in new bandages from the last skirmish. His narrowed eyes landed on Jackie. "The Heartstone glows too often around you," he muttered. "You're stirring things you don't understand."
Jackie met his gaze but said nothing. The time for rivalry had passed. Now came the test.
Suddenly, a horn's blast split the air.
"Archers, ready!" called Yara, notching a barbed shaft. Jackie followed suit, dropping to one knee. Across the valley, figures surged from the treeline—Karus spearmen flanked by mountain raiders with rusted blades and flint axes. They advanced in staggered lines, using rocky outcrops as cover.
Then came the whistle.
Arrows rained down.
Jackie ducked behind the palisade. Shafts thudded into timber and soil. One embedded itself inches from his head. The roar of Karus war-cries followed.
Through gaps in the palisade, Jackie loosed arrows into the charging ranks. One found a raider's thigh. Another took a Karus warrior in the shoulder. But they kept coming, wave after wave.
A sudden shout drew his gaze left.
Yara had spotted something. "They're flanking the ridge!"
Jackie turned just in time to see a crouched figure darting from shadow—one of the Bone-Rat scouts, slim and fast, slipping past the barricade like a weasel.
Toward Yara.
"Yara—down!" Jackie shouted.
She turned too late. The bandit raised his axe—
—and Jackie was already sprinting.
Time stretched thin as thread.
Jackie leapt from the rampart, his boots hitting earth in a roll. He reached for the spear on his back, heart pounding with bloodline fire. The Heartstone ignited under his ribs—its glow pulsed out through his arms, shimmering along the weapon's length.
The bandit raised his axe.
Jackie moved.
In a blur of instinct and breath, he ducked the blow, wind grazing his ear. His spear thrust upward in a rising arc, connecting with the raider's gut. There was a hollow crack as ribs gave. The man stumbled, gasped—and collapsed.
Yara stared wide-eyed from the battlement above. Jackie didn't wait. He turned, eyes blazing, scanning the chaos. More bandits clashed with warriors at the gates. Shouts rose—one voice cried out in pain, another barked defiance. The earth trembled under the rhythm of war.
A howl pierced the fray.
Jackie's.
He threw back his head and unleashed it—a deep, primal cry that echoed with something older than voice. A Wolfflame Call. The sound rolled over the battlefield, drawing heads and halting limbs.
And then the Heartstone burned bright.
Not just warm, but hot. Heat poured through Jackie's veins—his muscles surged, his vision sharpened. The world slowed.
He moved.
Through the smoke and fury, Jackie charged. Each footfall struck like thunder. He swept through enemy lines, spear lashing like a storm-tongue. Two Karus fell beneath its tip—one clutched his neck, the other his chest. Blood slicked Jackie's forearms.
Around him, the village warriors rallied. Inspired, they surged forward, crying out. Elder Rinna raised her staff and hurled sparks into the enemy's flank. Yara fired from the ridge, arrows finding eyes and throats. Even Kaden, grimacing, took up his axe and fought beside the gate.
The tide turned.
Jackie spotted the Karus captain—tall, in bone-laced armor—screaming orders. Jackie lunged, cleaving through two defenders, and flung his spear.
It soared, fire trailing in its wake.
The shaft struck the captain's chest, and the man collapsed without a word. The enemy faltered.
"Push them!" Jackie roared.
And they did.
The defenders drove the Karus and Bone-Rats back across the ridge, past their makeshift siege lines. Arrows hissed, blades rang, and when the dust cleared, the enemies had scattered into the trees.
The battle was over.
After the Battle
Silence settled slowly, like ash after a great burning.
Jackie stood panting near the ridge's edge, staring down into the forest below. Fires smoldered behind him. The palisade was cracked in places. Smoke curled from a collapsed storehouse. A few warriors sat slumped near the gate, treating wounds. The taste of blood still hung in his mouth.
"Jackie."
He turned.
Yara approached, streaked with mud and soot, but unharmed. She said nothing for a moment, only placed a hand over her heart and bowed. "You saved me."
Jackie looked away, brow furrowing. "You would've done the same."
She smiled faintly. "Still."
They stood in silence, the sound of flames crackling behind them. The elder warriors were beginning to chant. A ritual of thanks—low, steady. A rhythm older than war.
Jackie's gaze drifted skyward.
A black crow circled high above the valley. Then another. And another. Soon a full murder wheeled in the sky, spiraling as one.
"Crows," Yara whispered. "Messengers of change."
Jackie's hand went to the Heartstone.
It was cooling now. But a strange chill curled beneath it.
Not fear. Not fatigue.
An omen.
End of Chapter 26