The wind screamed like a mourning spirit.
Snow swept in sheets across the jagged spine of the Sacred Peak, each gust slicing through cloth and flesh with the sharpness of a hunter's blade. Jackie gritted his teeth and pressed onward, his boots slipping on frozen shale. Behind him, Yara moved with cautious precision, her fur-lined hood drawn low and breath misting in the frigid air.
"We should've waited till the storm passed," she shouted over the gale.
"And lose the trail? The hermit won't wait forever," Jackie replied, voice hoarse but resolute.
For three days they had followed the whispered tales of a mountain mystic, a figure said to possess the ancient ways of spirit refinement—techniques lost even to the oldest tribal bloodlines. Jackie knew the path to power was narrowing. The Karus' reach was longer than he'd feared. Only by delving deeper into the legacies of the Ancients could he hope to meet the threats ahead.
But the mountain did not give freely.
They had begun their ascent at dawn. Now the sky had turned leaden gray, the air bitter and thin. The slope beneath their feet crumbled with each step. As Jackie led them across a narrow ridgeline, a sharp crack split the air.
"Jackie!"
The rock beneath his left foot gave way. He pitched forward, arms flailing. Reflexes sharpened by bloodline instincts kicked in. He twisted mid-fall, grabbing for a jutting root. His fingers closed around it—but Yara, reaching for him, lost her footing too.
Together they tumbled down a steep incline, thudding hard against stone and ice. They landed in a drift of snow and silence.
Jackie coughed, snow in his lungs. A searing pain lanced through his side. Yara groaned beside him, a cut blooming red across her cheek.
"Still alive," she said, wincing.
Jackie chuckled weakly. "Barely."
The climb had become a test of will. He closed his eyes, drawing a breath not just into his lungs but deeper—into the place the Heartstone lived. He felt the faint pulse of it beneath his tunic, steady and warm despite the cold. It didn't speak, not in words. But its heat stirred something primal in him.
They patched their wounds with resin salve and cloth torn from Jackie's inner shirt. Above, the slope looked impossible. Yet as dusk turned the sky to blood and violet, Jackie rose.
"We finish this."
Yara hesitated, but nodded. "Let's move."
They moved in silence, steps careful, breath ragged. Wolves howled below, their cries carried on the wind like warnings. But the path eventually widened to a narrow ledge framed with ancient carvings. Jackie paused, tracing a weatherworn glyph.
"The mark of the Wolf-Sun," he murmured. It mirrored the symbol on the charm Yara had given him—the one tied to his wrist with braided leather. Was it coincidence or destiny?
They rounded the bend.
A fire flickered ahead, sheltered beneath a natural stone arch. Beyond it, nestled against the mountain's heart, was a low cave carved with totems and bones, feathers fluttering like spirit-touched leaves.
A figure stood beside the flame.
He was draped in furs and robes, braided beard trailing to his waist. Wrinkles cut deep like canyon lines across his dark bronze skin. A crescent scar marked his brow.
"You sought me, warrior of the Wolf," the old man said without turning.
Jackie stepped forward and knelt. "I am Jackie of the Emberfang Tribe. I seek the path of spirit-forging."
The hermit turned. His eyes were clouded, blind—yet they locked onto Jackie with unerring clarity.
"Power taken fades. Power earned shapes. Do you come to be shaped?"
"I do."
Yara knelt beside him. "We both do."
The hermit nodded. "Then enter. And prepare to burn."
The cave was warm, smoke-scented, lit by glowing moss and braziers filled with blood-oil flame. Totems of beasts and bones lined the walls. In the center lay a shallow pool surrounded by runes.
The hermit—called Hael by his totems—offered Jackie and Yara bitterroot tea. It burned going down, flushing color into their cheeks.
"Spirit refinement is not strength of limb but strength of soul," Hael said. "To wield true Wolfflame, your spirit must endure its bite."
Jackie laid his hand over his heart. The Heartstone pulsed, light flickering through his tunic.
"You've been touched by a deep fire already," Hael observed. "But it is wild. It must be anchored."
Hael motioned to the pool.
"Step in."
Jackie stripped to his waist, tattoos of the Emberfang spirals glowing faintly. He stepped into the pool—only to jerk in shock. It wasn't water. It was blood—thick, warm, filled with ancient energy.
"What is this?"
"The pool of memory. A gift from the Ancients. It remembers every warrior who has passed through. If your soul falters, it will drown you."
Jackie stood tall. "Then let it test me."
He sank in to his chest. Immediately, his senses fractured.
A wolf's howl shattered his thoughts. Then came fire—endless fire.
He stood in a dreamscape.
He was back at the village, yet it burned around him. Shadows loomed—Karus warriors with axes and red masks. He fought them but his limbs were slow, weak. Yara cried out, dying. The Heartstone cracked in his hand.
"Failure," the shadows whispered. "You'll lose them all."
"No," Jackie growled. "I've come too far."
He thrust his will outward. Fire blazed around him—Wolfflame—but brighter, whiter, purer. He saw the image of a great wolf with eyes of starlight standing beside him.
"You are not alone," the wolf said. "Your flame is born not just of rage, but of duty."
Jackie roared.
The dream shattered.
He gasped, back in the cave. The blood pool hissed around him, evaporating into mist.
Hael smiled. "The fire recognizes you."
Jackie collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.
Yara caught him. Her eyes were wet. "What did you see?"
Jackie looked at his hands. Flame flickered over his knuckles, dancing like playful spirits.
"The true Wolfflame," he whispered. "Not just wrath. It's hope."
Hael nodded. "You have passed the first trial. There will be others. But tonight, rest."
Later, by the cave's fire, Jackie wrapped himself in furs. Yara lay nearby, already asleep. But Jackie could not close his eyes.
He watched the fire. In its dance he saw visions—tribes marching, the Karus gathering dark totems, a golden tower rising in flame. And somewhere, always, a wolf with glowing eyes watched from the shadows.
Jackie whispered a vow into the mountain wind.
"I will not fail them."
Above the cave, a star pulsed twice—once white, once crimson.
Far away, something ancient stirred.
End of chapter 34