🌒 CHAPTER THREE
Fangshade Blood
JAMAICA's POINT OF VIEW
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"They said I was a mistake. An accident of bloodlines.
But blood remembers. And blood reclaims."
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When I left Whitemarsh Vale, the morning mist clung to my skin like a second soul.
The path ahead was unclear, but my heart beat with something close to resolve—shaky, but growing stronger with every step. The herbs tied around my wrist, the pendant at my chest, and the words Mother Zeena had whispered—"You are balance"—echoed in my mind like a steady drum.
Balance.
It sounded beautiful.
Poetic, even.
But also... distant.
Because in a world still ruled by ancient bloodlines, by names etched into history books, what did it mean to be "balance" when I was barely allowed to exist?
I wasn't trying to start a war.
But I was done hiding from the one that already existed.
And so, I followed the path no map dared to mark.
The Fangshade Wilds.
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It was said the Fangshade Guild had long disappeared into myth—swallowed by vines and silence after its leaders betrayed the Eastern Council. But Mother Zeena told me otherwise.
"Your father died there. His blood may be gone from this world, but his spirit lingers. The forest remembers what the world has forgotten."
So I went. I followed the trees where the oaks whispered and leaned with the wind.
Each step deeper into the Wilds made my skin prickle and my heartbeat slow.
Not with fear—
But with recognition.
It was like stepping into a memory I didn't know I had.
The earth changed here.
The light changed.
The air itself listened.
I wasn't alone.
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FANGSHADE GUILD:
The Eastern Territories were alive with secrets that few dared to whisper aloud. Legends spoke of forests that could remember every footstep, rivers that sang of battles long past, and wolves who carried the weight of entire bloodlines in their eyes. And at the heart of these tales—half buried in memory, half in rumor—was the Fangshade Guild.
Once, they had been the pride of the Eastern wilds: elite hunters, trackers, and guardians of sacred groves. Their warriors moved with silence like shadow, their eyes caught every flicker of movement, every faint pulse of magic that threaded the land. They were sworn not to a single Alpha or Luna but to the balance of the territories themselves. They protected what others could not see, kept what others could not understand.
But the Fangshade Guild had disappeared, or so most believed.
The truth was more complicated.
It was not defeat that silenced them. It was betrayal.
Decades ago, when the Eastern Council sought to consolidate power, they demanded the loyalty of every faction, every guild. The Fangshade, guardians of neutrality, refused to pledge themselves to politics and tradition over the natural order. They sought only to maintain the balance, to preserve the groves, the rivers, the sacred places that had existed since time before recorded history.
And so, the Council turned.
Whispers tell of a night when the council's emissaries descended upon the Fangshade stronghold. Wards shattered, runes burned, the forest screaming with unnatural fury. Some warriors fled into the deepest wilds, never to be seen again. Others, bound by oath and honor, chose death over surrender. The guild's leaders—men and women of unmatched skill—fell to treachery, lured into traps set with both magic and guile.
By the time the sun rose, the Fangshade were no more. Or rather, they had become ghosts. They were swallowed by the forests, their legacy hidden beneath vines, moss, and silence. Only the whispers remained—stories told by elders around fires, fragments of rituals, echoes of those who had glimpsed their passage in the dark.
And yet, even in their disappearance, the Fangshade had left a mark: the forests still remembered. The earth itself preserved the memory of their presence. Every tree, every root, every stone carried the echo of the warriors who had walked with purpose.
____
It started as a whisper behind me Then a flicker
Fast. Silent. Measured.
Shadows between trees.
Wolves.
They didn't reveal themselves at first.
Just circled. Surrounded. Observed.
And then a voice—
Low. Controlled. Commanding.
"Identify yourself."
I lifted my hands, showing my palms to the forest.
"I'm not here to fight."
A second voice responded, sharper—female and suspicious.
"Trespassers always say that."
I took a breath. My heart thundered in my chest.
"I'm Jamaica Rhogar. Daughter of Eron Rhogar."
Silence.
The forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then the shadows stepped into the light.
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There were six of them.
All clad in leathers sewn with ancient sigils. Their armor blended with the forest bark. Their eyes gleamed like wolves even in human form.
But the one who caught my attention stood at the center.
Storm-grey eyes. A scar from his left cheek down to his collarbone. Tall. Broad. The kind of man who had survived too many winters.
He looked at me like I had spat on sacred ground.
"You lie." His voice was cold. "Eron Rhogar had no children."
I didn't back down. I couldn't.
"Because you were told he didn't," I said, standing straighter. "But he did. And I'm standing in front of you now."
He narrowed his eyes. "Prove it."
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I reached into my satchel and pulled out the pendant Zeena had entrusted to me—a shard of black obsidian etched with silver runes. At the center was the crest of the Eastern Wilds, with a curling fang over a leaf-blade—the Rhogar sigil.
I held it out.
The pendant pulsed faintly in my hand, as if sensing the air around us. The runes glowed a soft white, reacting to my blood.
Shock flickered in the man's expression.
Then doubt.
Then confusion.
"...That's not possible."
But it was.
I was living proof.
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They didn't drag me away.
But they didn't exactly welcome me, either.
I was escorted—watched from every angle—as they led me through the Wilds, deeper and deeper into their domain. I passed half-crumbling watchtowers wrapped in vines, moss-covered stones carved with old names, training pits filled with rusted weapons and dried leaves.
The Fangshade Guild was no longer a shining beacon of warrior pride.
But it was alive.
The air vibrated with memory.
The roots below my feet felt ancient.
The spirits here weren't gone.
Just sleeping.
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They brought me to a forest glade where moonlight broke through a perfect circle in the canopy.
At its center stood a hut built from twisted roots and stone. Guarding it were two wolves with eyes like white flame.
There, I met Velmara.
The Guild Matron.
She looked older than the forest itself—her hair white as snow, her back hunched but spine unbroken. Her dress was made of layered hides, each marked with beads, bones, and feathers. Her presence made the warriors bow.
And yet... she stared at me like she already knew.
"You are her child," she said. Her voice was low, ancient, and powerful. "The girl of both worlds."
"You knew my mother?" I asked.
"I knew of her. Enough to fear her. Enough to envy her. Enough to hate what she stood for... and mourn what your father became."
I didn't flinch.
"Eron chose her. He chose love."
Velmara's eyes narrowed.
"And in doing so, he turned his back on this guild. On tradition. On his rightful path to lead."
My jaw clenched. "He chose something better."
She scoffed. "Better? He died. She disappeared. And we were left in ruins."
"I took a step forward, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
'Maybe I can't bring back everything that was lost... but maybe—just maybe—I'm meant to be the answer. Not to fix the past, but to shape what comes next.'"
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The days that followed were filled with suspicion.
To them, I was a hybrid. An accident. A relic of betrayal.
But the forest...
The forest knew me.
When I walked, the roots reached. When I spoke, the fire crackled. When I trained, the wind guided my hands.
They watched in silence. Even Velmara.
And slowly, they began to believe.
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Velmara took me to where my father was buried.
Beneath an ancient hawthorn tree, where only Guild legends were laid to rest.
The wind was silent. The air cold.
A single stone marked his resting place.
ERON RHOGAR
Hunter. Rebel. Mate.
"He walked the untamed path so others might run."
I collapsed to my knees.
Tears ran freely down my cheeks.
"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm your daughter. I made it."
And the wind answered with a gentle breeze.
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They trained me after that.
Not just in combat—but in control.
The witches of Whitemarsh Vale taught me how to listen to magic. But the Fangshade taught me how to command it.
I learned ancient chants. Bloodline runes.
I battled warriors twice my size.
I stood under moonlight and spoke with flame.
I meditated with earth and listened to the wind speak stories in silence.
For the first time, my wolf and my magic weren't fighting each other.
They were dancing.
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"Days, weeks, and months passed..."
_____
And then, the night came.
The clearing filled with wolves. The guild stood in a wide circle, heads bowed, breath visible in the cold air.
Velmara stood in the center beside me.
"Jamaica Rhogar has passed every trial."
"She is daughter of Eron. Child of flame and spirit. And though born of forbidden blood, she has proven herself worthy."
She looked at me.
"And we—the last of the Fangshade—claim her as our kin."
They bowed.
I stood frozen.
Because for the first time in my life...
I felt it.
Belonging.
A name.
A place in this world.
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But the world wasn't done with me yet.
The next morning, a raven came.
Its feathers black as shadow.
Its eyes burned like embers.
It carried a scroll.
The seal was claw-marked. The wax glowed faint red.
I opened it with trembling hands.
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To the Hybrid Known as Jamaica Rhogar,
Your presence has been noted. Your blood is a threat. You are hereby marked for retrieval and judgment under Eastern Law.
Those who shelter you will be seen as enemies of order.
We come for you.
— The Council of Embers
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I didn't speak.
I didn't cry.
I simply folded the scroll and stood.
The Fangshade warriors waited for my response.
I looked toward the wind—toward the West.
Where rumors of rebellion still stirred.
Where a lone heir was gathering forgotten wolves.
If they wanted a war...
Then they'd get one.
But they wouldn't be facing a witch.
Or a wolf.
Or a lost girl with no name.
They'd face Jamaica Rhogar.
Daughter of balance.
Child of flame.
Heir of the untamed.
And this time—
I wouldn't run.
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"I said my goodbyes to Velmara. I told her that I need to face the Ember Council, but this time not to fight with them, but to be recognized as an Eastern heir of the Eastern Alpha.
As I ran through the forest toward the West, there were no words.
I carried only my hopes that they would soon understand my existence."
📜 End of Chapter Three
📖 Next: Chapter Four – "A Wolf on the Hill"