Mist coiled like a living thing around the low tents of the Neri feast grounds, slithering between torchlight and shadow, cloaking the gathering in a veil of eerie half-light. The scent of smoked meat and burning cedar filled the air, but beneath it lingered something sharper—sweat, fear, and hidden steel.
Jackie sat cross-legged near the high-fire, chewing slowly on a strip of salt-cured bear flank. He kept his senses half-turned outward, instincts sharpened since childhood under Rahu's brutal tutelage. His thoughts were tangled: he had secured the Neri's allegiance, but peace, he had learned, was a brief visitor in a land ruled by bloodlines and blade.
Across the circle, chieftain Gorr of the Neri tribe raised his drinking horn and grunted a blessing to the ancestors. The warriors echoed him, slapping tattooed chests or raising carved bone totems skyward. Yara stood at Jackie's shoulder, alert but calm, her red-streaked braids swaying gently in the night breeze.
Then—something shifted.
Not in the wind. Not in the fire.
In the blood.
Jackie felt it like a sudden pulse in the Heartstone beneath his tunic—a tremor, not of earth, but of fate.
He scanned the edge of the circle. A figure slipped from the crowd, too silent, too smooth. Kol. A Neri warrior—or so Jackie had believed. The man ducked behind a low-hide tent, then emerged again further around the ring, eyes darting, hand clenched tight around something metallic. For the briefest instant, moonlight flickered on the curve of a hidden blade.
Jackie's jaw tensed. That dagger—not tribal-forged. Karus steel.
He reached instinctively for the totem hanging at his neck: a twin carving of a wolf and flame, Yara's gift and his personal crest. The wood was warm to the touch.
Kol slipped behind a food-stall, moving closer.
Jackie rose slowly, muscles coiling. Then—
"Jackie! Behind you!" Yara's voice cut the air like a hawk's cry.
He spun.
Kol was already mid-lunge, dagger gleaming like a fang, eyes wide with killing intent.
Jackie dropped low, twisting. The dagger sang past his back, grazing leather. A hiss of motion—then Jackie slammed his elbow backward, catching Kol in the ribs. The assassin snarled, but didn't fall. He came again, blade reversed, aiming for Jackie's throat.
Jackie's hand flew to the hilt of his tribal blade. Iron whispered from its sheath.
They clashed.
Steel rang. Sparks flew. Kol drove with frenzy, slashing and lunging in brutal, trained movements—not wild. Not tribal. Disciplined. Karus-trained.
Jackie backpedaled across the feast circle, scattering gourds and smoked fish. Warriors shouted. Tents rustled. Firelight flared.
"Traitor!" Gorr roared. "To arms!"
But Kol was fast—too fast for the elders to intervene.
And Jackie was alone in the clash.
Kol feinted left and struck right—Jackie barely parried. The force vibrated down his forearm. Kol grinned, dagger in one hand, a second blade flashing now in the other.
Two weapons. Damn.
But Jackie had something Kol didn't.
He drew deep from within—past muscle, past memory, into blood.
Wolfflame.
His core ignited like kindling. The Heartstone pulsed against his chest, feeding the fire. The spear within his spirit surged upward. With a snarl, Jackie ducked a slash and drove his palm to the earth.
"Wolfflame, rise!"
Flames burst from his blade's edge—not normal fire, but white-orange soulflame, born of his bloodline. It curled like a living thing, snarling around the metal, licking up his forearms, dancing in his hair.
Kol recoiled, eyes wide.
Jackie advanced now, the air around him seething. His shadow stretched tall in the firelight, wolf-shaped, glowing-eyed.
"You came cloaked in mist," Jackie growled, "but I burn with the blood of my kin!"
He slashed—Kol parried—but the soulflame scorched the dagger's hilt. Kol yelped, dropping it. Jackie spun, swept the traitor's legs with a flaming arc, and tackled him to the ground.
The assassin thrashed, but Jackie slammed his knee into the man's chest, pressing him into the mud.
"Who sent you?" Jackie roared, his blade inches from Kol's eye.
"Long live the Karus," Kol spat. "You will all burn."
Yara and three Neri warriors rushed in, weapons raised. But Kol twisted, rolled, and shoved hard against Jackie's chest. A flash of unnatural speed burst through him—a bloodline spark?
Kol vanished into the trees, stumbling but alive, swallowed by the mist.
Silence fell.
The fires crackled. The feast circle stood frozen, smeared with ash and blood.
Jackie stood over the torn grass, chest heaving, flame still dancing faintly from his shoulders. He looked down at his hands—no burns. The fire obeyed him now. It was part of him.
Yara stepped beside him. "You burned his dagger to the bone."
Jackie nodded slowly. "It felt… natural. Like it had always been there, waiting."
Chief Gorr strode over, frowning deeply. "That was Karus steel. I'd stake my heart on it. We have a traitor among us—or more."
Jackie wiped sweat from his brow. "You said Kol was one of yours."
Gorr grunted. "He wore our tattoos. But not all marks are earned in truth."
A hush settled. The feast lay forgotten. Warriors began inspecting tents. Mothers clutched children. Guards were doubled.
Jackie stared into the dark trees where Kol had vanished. Even here, so far from the mountain passes, their reach slithers in like snakes.
His hand went to the Heartstone beneath his tunic. It pulsed faintly, echoing his heartbeat.
Later that night, Jackie sat alone at the edge of the Neri village, overlooking the moonlit wetlands. The mists had settled again, quiet as breath, veiling the reeds and silver pools.
Yara joined him, silent. She passed him a warm skin of pineberry wine. He took a sip. Bittersweet. Like the night.
"I thought we were safe," Jackie muttered.
"We never are," she said.
He nodded. "Still… I can't believe I let him get that close."
Yara glanced at him. "You didn't fail. You survived. You exposed him. And the Neri saw your fire. That matters."
Jackie said nothing, staring at his open palm. He summoned a flicker of flame—small, quiet, obedient. It hovered like a spirit.
"What is this fire, really?" he murmured. "It's not just strength. It's… something deeper. Memory maybe. Legacy."
Yara looked at him strangely. "You sound like the Old-Tongue Seers."
He chuckled. "Maybe I'm becoming one. I feel like I've lived more lives than I remember."
They sat in silence, watching the tiny flame dance.
Far in the east, past the bone-ridges of Tarak Vale, a robed figure stood beneath a twisted tree.
He gazed into a black bowl filled with smoke.
A shadow formed in the mist—Jackie's face, bloodied but proud, wreathed in fire.
The figure narrowed his eyes. "He awakens too quickly."
Another voice behind him. "Should we move, Master?"
The figure stirred the smoke, revealing the Heartstone's faint glow. "Not yet. Let the fire burn brighter. Then we'll smother it."
Back at the Neri camp, Jackie rose to his feet.
"I need to keep moving. If Kol made it back to the Karus, they'll know we're uniting the tribes."
Yara nodded. "We'll ride before dawn. West to the Ashhorn clans?"
Jackie's jaw set. "Yes. We need the Ashhorn. We need them all."
He turned one last time toward the trees.
And for a moment—just a flicker—he saw eyes in the dark. Pale, watching. Too high for any man.
He blinked. They were gone.
But he knew.
Something was hunting him.
End of Chapter 32