Mist clung low over the Blackrush Marshes like a stubborn veil, curling around the legs of the delegation as they pressed through the reeds. Frogs croaked somewhere deep in the gloom, and the soft squelch of mud under leather boots marked the slow, tense passage of Jackie and his party. The sky above was a steel-gray sheet, stretching heavy with rain yet to fall.
Jackie Wolfblood, newly kindled in power and purpose, led the column. His fur-trimmed cloak hung heavy with damp, but the fire in his blood burned steadily. A warm pulse of energy flickered just beneath his skin—not fever, not magic exactly, but a living heartbeat from the Wolfflame. It stirred whenever his fingers brushed the Heartstone at his hip, a reminder that his path now carried fire and legacy both.
His goal was clear: secure the allegiance of the Neri Wolf-kin.
"They won't trust easily," muttered Taavo beside him, elder warrior and friend. The old man's war tattoos gleamed under a sheen of sweat. "Not since the east-road raid."
"They'll listen," Jackie replied, gaze locked ahead. "They respect fire."
Behind them trailed a lean group of warriors, hunters, and two younger bloods carrying gifts wrapped in birchbark and animal hide: dried river-meat, a woven blackfeather cloak, and Jackie's own carving—a polished wolf-tooth totem bound with copper, marked with twin glyphs: flame and eye.
They reached Neri ground by dusk of the second day. Torches flared into view along the wooden palisade, and shadowy figures watched from high perches. The village was nestled atop dry hummocks rising from the swamp, connected by rope-bridges and plank-walks. Sentries emerged with spears braced.
"Declare!" came the cry.
Jackie stepped forward, voice steady.
"Jackie of the Stonefang tribe. Bearer of Heartstone. Kin by blood, flame by bond. I seek parley with Chieftain Vekku of the Neri."
There was a pause. Then, murmuring. The name carried weight now. Wolfblood. Flamebearer. Whispers rustled through the reeds.
One of the guards nodded, then disappeared.
Minutes later, a figure strode from the gate: broad-shouldered, tattooed from chin to ribs in curling blue spirals, and wearing a mantle of stitched wolf pelts. Vekku, war-chief of the Neri.
He studied Jackie for a long time.
"You carry fire," Vekku said.
Jackie nodded and unhooked the Heartstone. He held it up; the relic pulsed softly, deep crimson like the embers of a forge.
"But can you command it?"
Jackie answered with action.
He stepped toward the ceremonial brazier at the gate's edge, a great bowl carved with wolves hunting the sun. Raising his hand, he drew a breath, channeled the heat within—
Wolfflame.
A crackle leapt from his palm.
A line of fire shot outward like a snake striking, caught the wood-stacked brazier with perfect precision. Flame roared into life, dancing skyward in golden-orange spirals.
Gasps rose among the Neri.
Vekku's eyes narrowed, but he stepped aside. "Enter."
Talks began in the great longhouse, where smoke curled from central hearths and elder-mothers tended pots of simmering root stew. The Neri council sat in a wide circle, ears sharp, eyes sharper.
Jackie offered the gifts first. The wolf-tooth totem passed from hand to hand. Some muttered prayers over it; others weighed its shape, feeling for intent.
He spoke next. Of the threat Karus posed, of the bandit tribes gathering like wolves scenting blood. Of the old prophecies stirring. Of how the Ancients had begun to awaken, and how the time for the Wolf-kin to unite had come again.
He did not beg. He did not boast.
He let the fire speak through his words.
When he finished, Vekku leaned forward.
"And what would you offer in return, son of Stonefang?"
"Protection," Jackie said, "from the Karus tide. Shared lore—the glyphs of the Ancients, the flame rites we rediscovered. And a promise: when the blood-moon rises, your warriors will not stand alone."
There was silence. Then a woman with long gray braids stood.
"He speaks like the first wolf-prince," she said. "Let us test his truth."
At dusk, they stood in the Grove of Echoes—a shallow rise marked with ancient stones, half-submerged in moss and reed. Here the Neri communed with the past. A fire was lit in the central ring.
Jackie stood alone.
"What is asked?" he murmured.
Vekku held out a blade: stone-forged, ritually clean. "A cut to the palm. A drop of blood on the flame. If the fire answers, the pact begins."
Jackie nodded.
He took the blade, sliced his palm without flinching, and let the blood drip into the fire.
It hissed. Popped.
Then bloomed upward.
Not red, but gold-white. A sudden pillar, three feet high, roaring into the dark like a wolf's cry of defiance.
The elders reeled back, stunned.
Jackie felt it then—a deep pull within the earth. As though the grove itself breathed in time with his heart. A low hum filled the air.
The flames danced around him. They did not burn. They knew him.
When they faded, the Neri bowed their heads.
Vekku stepped forward and pressed his palm to Jackie's.
"Then let it be done. We ride with you."
Night fell, and feasting began. Jackie sat beside the fire, Yara at his side, watching the Neri children play with reed-toys shaped like wolves. His body ached from travel, but the warmth of victory lit him from within.
Yara leaned close.
"You didn't just earn their blades," she said. "You earned their story."
Jackie smiled faintly.
"It still may not be enough. The Karus have numbers. And now rumors say they have a new leader. One with blood glyphs."
Yara's expression darkened.
"Then we hunt the truth. Before it hunts us."
Later that night, Jackie wandered alone to the edge of the grove. The swamp hissed and whispered. Moonlight painted the reeds silver.
He pressed a hand to the Heartstone.
It pulsed.
A faint vision shimmered behind his eyes: a great wolf, wreathed in fire, standing before a black sun.
A voice, not his own, echoed in his bones:
"The flame you carry is not the final spark. Seek the Cinder-Kin beyond the Ashgate. There, the true fire waits."
Jackie shivered. Not from cold.
He opened his eyes.
In the dark, something watched him from the treeline.
Amber eyes.
Too tall for a wolf. Too still for a man.
When he blinked, it was gone.
End of Chapter 31