The taste of ash still lingered on Jackie's tongue as he sat beside the dying fire, his bandaged hand cradled in his lap.
The air smelled of scorched wood, bloodroot balm, and the sweat of trialed youth. Smoke hung low above the sacred circle, a gauzy veil parting only for the silver rise of dawn behind the ridge.
The ember had marked him. The wolf totem still glowed faintly where it rested on a bed of cooling sand—its charred snout pointed skyward, like it too had howled at some unseen moon.
Jackie shifted his weight and winced. Every breath tugged at the blistered skin beneath the wraps. But inside—beneath the pain—his blood hummed like a song with no name. That strange second heartbeat pulsed faintly at his wrist, just below the flesh, where silver lines had begun to ghost beneath the skin.
It's changing me, he thought. Not just my body… something deeper.
Across the circle, the last initiate stepped forward.
Kaden.
His amber eyes burned hotter than any ember. He wore no expression, but his shoulders were tight, his jaw locked. The tribal tattoo across his chest—a stylized falcon nested among storm-clouds—seemed to ripple with restrained force.
Elder Toma offered him the ember tongs without ceremony. The ember itself was smaller now, nearing the end of its life, but it still glowed.
Kaden didn't flinch as he took it in his bare hand.
The fire pit hissed as he stepped into it.
He moved with a predator's grace—swift, practiced, clean. His fox-headed totem was already clutched in his other hand. Unlike Jackie, who had hesitated, Kaden showed no fear.
But five strides in, the ember flickered.
Kaden faltered, his foot catching slightly in the ash.
The ember dimmed.
A breath later—it died.
No spark. No light. Just a curl of smoke.
Kaden reached the end, stared at his cold totem, and stood very still.
The circle murmured.
Some of the younger warriors turned away to hide their disappointment. Elders leaned toward one another, whispering in the old tongue. Somewhere in the gathering, a voice muttered, "The ember chose its flame last night…"
Kaden turned.
Eyes locked onto Jackie.
"You cheated," he said. Not shouted—spat.
Jackie blinked, still seated on the ground, his hand throbbing. "What?"
"That wasn't a natural spark," Kaden continued, louder now. "Your ember didn't just burn. It erupted. You lit your totem with a spell."
Gasps rippled. Even Elder Toma narrowed his eyes.
Jackie stood slowly, biting back the pain as he pushed up from his knees.
"You think I cast a spell?" His voice was steady, but cold. "With what? My burned hand? My sweat?"
"Don't lie." Kaden took a step forward, eyes ablaze. "I saw the shape in the flame. That wasn't any wolf. It had wings. Antlers. It was wrong."
Whispers turned to murmurs. The elders exchanged glances. Yara stood nearby, mouth slightly open.
This is what he wanted, Jackie realized. An opening. An accusation strong enough to fracture the ritual.
"Even if it was different," Jackie said, "the ember flared on its own. I held it like everyone else. I bled like everyone else."
He reached for the water skin at his belt—his left hand, the unburnt one—and stepped forward. He offered it.
"To the one who didn't cheat. Drink."
Kaden stared at the water.
Then at Jackie.
Then—he slapped it away.
The skin hit the ground and rolled, water spilling onto the scorched earth.
"You think that makes you noble?" Kaden hissed. "You don't belong here, lowborn mutt."
Jackie's shoulders twitched, but he did not rise to it. He knelt instead, picked up the water skin, and poured the last of it over the roots of the flame circle tree.
The tribe watched in silence.
Elder Toma's voice, sharp and final, broke through it.
"The trial is over. The fire has spoken. The totems are sealed. No bloodline is questioned until the moon turns again."
But the damage had been done.
The murmurs would spread. Doubt had been planted like a thornvine.
Jackie sat again beside his mask, the air colder now.
The drummers had stopped. The circle had emptied. Even Rahu had disappeared into the mist, as he always did when the tribe's eyes weren't watching.
Yara lingered a while before stepping close.
"You didn't deserve that," she said quietly.
"I know."
"You should have said more."
Jackie looked down at his hand. The blood under the bandage shimmered faintly—like starlight trapped beneath the skin.
"If I had," he said, "they wouldn't have listened."
She hesitated. "What did you see in the flame?"
Jackie glanced at the mask. The snarl seemed deeper now, and the silver lightning scar glowed faintly.
"I don't know," he answered.
But he was lying.
Then the wind changed.
It came sudden and violent, gusting in from the northern ridge like a storm's breath.
The ceremonial lanterns—woven reed cages filled with flame-moths—jerked wildly on their poles. Fire sputtered. Ash and dust rose in swirls.
The sacred flame in the circle hissed and jumped.
From the direction of the forest came the howl.
Not a wolf. Not human.
Something in between.
The wind grew wilder, clawing at cloaks, toppling a drum rack. Children cried out. One of the younger initiates screamed as a spark landed on their robe.
Jackie stood without thinking.
The hum in his veins grew louder.
Power-level moment. The glyph on his wrist pulsed—bright silver now, threading out like veins of lightning across his forearm. The wolf within stirred.
And then he remembered.
"When the wind turns feral, call it to heel."
"How?" he had asked Rahu.
"Like the Firstborn did. Sing the name of your line. Let it hear its own blood."
Jackie stepped into the center of the fire circle.
Lifted his face to the wind.
And howled.
Low and long. Steady. Not like a beast, but a rite. A song of bone and breath. The ritual howl of the Wolfbloods.
The wind staggered.
For a heartbeat, the air listened.
The lanterns stilled. The dust fell. The sacred flame steadied in its bowl.
And silence returned.
Every eye turned to Jackie.
Elder Toma stood rigid, staff planted in the ground. His expression unreadable.
From the shadows near the edge of the circle, Rahu emerged—face lit with something close to pride, or perhaps wariness.
"The blood sings true," he murmured.
Kaden's mouth hung half-open. Yara stood utterly still.
One of the firekeepers whispered, "That was the First Howl."
Elder Mava, oldest of the council, leaned forward and muttered, "Not since Ashen-Kai have we heard it spoken without songsmith training…"
Jackie felt the last tremor of the wolf-howl fade from his chest. The pulse in his wrist slowed, and the silver glow dimmed to a faint shimmer.
But the feeling remained.
The presence.
He wasn't alone in his skin anymore.
Far from the circle, deep in the woods, something answered.
A distant echo.
A howl of its own.
Not joyful.
Hungry.
End of Chapter 8