The fire crackled low, whispering secrets into the mountain wind.
The flames cast long shadows across the rock-ringed campsite, painting the three of them—Jackie, Yara, and Kaden—in flickers of red and gold. It should've been quiet after such a narrow escape from the shrine. But the Heartstone had its own heartbeat, and it was loud.
Jackie sat cross-legged at the edge of the fire, the crimson relic cupped in both hands. It pulsed like something alive. Not hot to the touch, but warm, deeply so—like sun-warmed stones or a mother's breath in winter. Each throb of light echoed in his ribs, a slow syncopation with his own blood.
He could feel it testing him.
Not attacking, not rejecting—but probing. Peering into him like a blind god reaching with fire instead of sight.
Yara crouched nearby, tending a stew of rootstock and dried elk over the flames. Her hands moved automatically, but her eyes never left the Heartstone.
"You're... different," she said softly.
Jackie didn't look up. "Yeah?"
"Not just the glow. Your aura. It's tighter. Brighter." She paused. "You've stepped deeper into the Wolfflame, haven't you?"
He nodded slowly. "Something inside me broke open when I touched it. Then reformed. Rahu said that power follows lineage, but this feels deeper. Like the stone's... cleansing me."
Kaden, sitting farther off sharpening his spear, scoffed under his breath. "Or it's using you. Like all old relics do. Bloodlines don't change. You're either born strong or you're not."
Jackie met his eyes across the fire. "Then maybe mine's waking up."
Kaden didn't reply. But he didn't look away either.
Yara stirred the pot. "Whether it's blessing or curse, you pulled us out alive. That matters."
Jackie nodded and stared again at the Heartstone. It pulsed once more—then dimmed slightly, as if resting. He watched its glow reflect on his lineage tattoos, the ink around his forearms and collarbone subtly shifting with the flickering red light.
Only a pure blood can wield such power.
Rahu's voice haunted his thoughts. But what did pure mean? He'd always been a half-claim. His mother from the Skyfire Clan, his father unknown. In the village, he was tolerated for his talent, not accepted for his name. Yet now… the Heartstone had not rejected him. It had chosen.
And that scared him more than any stone guardian ever could.
Later, full from stew and warm from firelight, the trio wrapped themselves in fur cloaks and tucked into sleep, the stars veiled behind wind-blown clouds.
But Jackie didn't sleep long.
In his dream, he stood upon a basalt plateau above an ocean of mist. Black mountains pierced the fog like the ribs of the world. In front of him, a procession of ancient kings stood in silence. Warriors. Chieftains. Their tattoos were glowing scripts, their skin marked by fire and frost and beast-blood.
They formed a circle, wordless.
And then the tallest of them—a figure wreathed in flame, with eyes like two burning coals—stepped forward.
The king held a crown of fire, molten and shifting, like lava caught in wind. He lifted it toward Jackie's brow.
"You are not the last," the king whispered, "but you are the first in many seasons."
The crown descended.
Fire poured into Jackie's skull. Pain. Power. Memory. Lineage.
He screamed—
—and woke.
Cold air bit his lungs. The fire had burned low to embers, yet Jackie was sweating.
He staggered up and looked at his hands. Steam rose from his fingers. His heartbeat raced, but it felt light. Precise. Every muscle in his body tingled—not with fatigue, but with a restless energy, as though he could run for days.
He touched his chest.
No wounds. No bruises from the shrine battle remained.
Then he saw the change.
The tattoos across his arms had shifted. Where before there had been runes for wolf and flame, now new sigils had emerged: the mark of unity, the glyph of chosen blood, the totem of ember-kings.
[Bloodline Rank Advanced – Wolfflame Tier II → Tier III]
[New Trait Gained: "Burning Will" – Stamina regenerates rapidly while near heat sources. Aura of fear now affects lesser beasts.]
He stumbled to his knees, stunned.
This wasn't just strength. This was evolution.
And not from training, not from rites—but from the choice of the Heartstone.
By dawn, they broke camp and began the descent from the shrine's ridge path. The wind was colder than before, and the path slick with fresh frost, as if the mountain had tried to seal itself once more after surrendering its heart.
Yara walked beside Jackie in silence for a time.
"You dreamed," she said finally.
He nodded. "Crown of fire. Ancients. One of them called me first in many seasons."
Her brow furrowed. "A title?"
"Or a warning."
She looked at him long, then stopped. "Jackie... this relic. It didn't just change your bloodline. It's calling others. I feel it. The old powers stir when balance shifts."
Behind them, Kaden walked in silence, jaw tight. He had said little since sunrise.
Jackie glanced back. "You good?"
Kaden nodded, but his grip on his spear was white-knuckled.
There was envy there. And fear.
And something else.
Resolve.
By noon, they passed the Tree of Watchers—a towering dead trunk carved with clan-symbols, a sacred marker near the village's outskirts. Jackie paused to place his palm on it, whispering a thanks to the spirits of the trail.
Yara did the same.
But Kaden didn't stop.
He walked ahead, back straight, steps fast.
Jackie watched him go.
"Something changed in him too," Yara murmured. "He saw you rise."
Jackie exhaled. "And now he needs to match me."
That night, in the Skyfire village, news spread like wildfire that Jackie had returned with the Heartstone. Elders gathered. Children whispered. The totem-witches lit signal fires on the longhouse roof.
But Jackie stood apart, watching from the edge of the firepit, the Heartstone bundled in cloth against his chest. He could feel its heat, low and steady.
He wasn't ready to show it to the elders.
Not yet.
As the drums of welcome echoed across the cold sky, Jackie looked up—and saw smoke on the northern horizon. A thin dark line.
Not from their village.
Another fire burns.
Then he heard it again—not with ears, but with blood.
The dream-voice.
"The fire-child walks. But behind him, the Hollow stirs."
End of Chapter 15