The forest did not welcome him.
Jackie ducked beneath a tangle of thornvine, the jug sloshing at his hip, sweat streaking down his brow. Roots jutted like bones from the earth, and every branch seemed to claw at his arms. The sun was past its zenith now, casting long shadows through the canopy of twisted ash and whisperwood.
Somewhere in the trees, a raven cawed. It sounded like laughter.
Not even the forest believes I'll make it.
He stumbled on a moss-slick rock and fell hard, the breath punched from his lungs. The clay jug bounced down the slope and shattered on a stone. Springwater soaked into the dirt.
Jackie lay there for a moment, cheek pressed to the earth, arms trembling.
Taavo's test… failed.
It had begun that morning.
Jackie had risen before the sun, ignoring the ache in his ribs from the boar fight. When the others still slept beside the ash-hued embers of the communal fire, he'd gone to Taavo.
The warrior stood alone by the bone-spire overlooking the western cliffs, sharpening his obsidian-edged blade. His dark tattoos—markings of kill, trial, and oath—twined from jaw to elbow. His back was straight as the totem-pole behind him.
"I want to train," Jackie had said. "For real this time."
Taavo hadn't looked up. "You already did. You faced the boar."
"That wasn't skill. That was instinct. Luck. Stupidity." Jackie hesitated. "I want to earn the strength to do more than survive."
Taavo had met his eyes then. Something unreadable passed between them.
"You want strength? Then bring me water from the Spring of Teeth. Before sunset."
Jackie had blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
The challenge had seemed so simple. But now, with bruises blossoming down his shins and mud caked to his arms, Jackie understood.
It wasn't a task. It was a lesson.
He returned to the village just as the sun melted behind the western cliffs. Empty-handed.
Children still played near the firepit. Warriors drank fermented pine-ale. The elders murmured around the high-stone with Rahu, whose gaze flicked toward Jackie just once.
But Taavo was waiting beside the fire, spear across his lap.
Jackie stood before him, head bowed. "I dropped the jug. I failed."
Taavo didn't answer right away. Then, in a voice like dry bark:
"You were late. And the jug was shattered."
Jackie's gut twisted.
"But you came back." Taavo looked him over. "You're limping. Filthy. Bleeding."
Jackie glanced at his scraped palms and dirt-smeared chest.
"That's what an apprentice looks like."
The next morning, training began.
It was grueling.
Taavo had him lifting logs twice his weight, hauling stones from the riverbed, and climbing the cliff path barefoot.
"Endurance before elegance," he said. "You want to fight like a wolf? Learn to survive like one."
Jackie ran laps around the Great Totem until his lungs burned. He threw spears until his arms trembled. He held stances for hours, sweat pooling at his feet as birds wheeled overhead.
Sometimes Kado watched from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, jaw tight. He never spoke. But Jackie felt the weight of his eyes.
Yara brought him water once during rest. She didn't say much, just placed the jug beside him and sat silently under the willow tree. He caught her watching him as he trained later, fingers twisting the bone-ring at her wrist.
When the sun reached its peak on the third day, Taavo gestured toward the broken jug pieces Jackie had collected and re-strung with pitch and pine-sinew.
"Go again," he said.
This time, Jackie knew the forest's traps.
He moved with more care, ducking under clawing branches, hopping over roots, pressing his fingers to the earth to feel for soft soil before each step.
At the Spring of Teeth—named for the jagged rocks that ringed the bubbling pool—he knelt, breathing in the clean scent of mountain water. The stone rim bit into his knees as he filled the jug slowly.
Don't spill. Don't drop. Don't lose it.
The return trip was worse. Every branch seemed sharper. The weight of the jug grew heavier with each step. His arms burned. But he didn't stop.
When the clearing appeared through the trees and the sun hovered just above the horizon, Jackie emerged—mud-streaked, panting, jug in hand.
The villagers looked up as he passed. No one jeered this time.
Taavo took the jug and nodded. "Not clean. Not perfect. But done."
Jackie collapsed to the earth, grinning despite the pain. His whole body throbbed. And yet—
Something stirred inside him.
A pulse. Like a drumbeat under the skin. A thrum in his blood, not pain, but energy. He could feel it rise from his belly, coil up his spine, and spark against the back of his eyes.
The sigil from his dream flickered once behind his eyelids, as if watching.
Then it was gone.
That night, the flames danced higher than usual. Jackie sat closer this time, not on the outer ring but nearer to the center, where warriors and apprentices alike listened to stories.
Rahu was silent this time. Instead, it was Chief Naru who spoke.
"Our people do not grow strong in stillness," he said. "We grow in motion. In fire. In blood."
His gaze lingered on Jackie, and though no names were spoken, others turned to look.
Even Kado.
Later, Taavo sat beside him, sharpening his blade.
"You still move like prey," he said. "But your heart beats like a hunter."
Jackie looked at his blistered hands. "I'm still far from a warrior."
"Then keep walking."
But in the shadows near the elder's tent, voices whispered.
"The mark glowed on his wrist again."
"Rahu says it's the Ember Maw's sign."
"Then he's touched. Marked by something ancient."
"Or something dangerous."
That night, Jackie dreamed again.
He stood on a cliff above the village. The forest burned below him—not with flame, but with light. Shapes moved in the fire: wolves, boars, great serpents. A figure stood beside him, hooded, face hidden.
"Three nights more," the figure said. "Then the storm."
When Jackie turned to ask what storm, the world cracked with thunder.
He awoke to the scent of ash.
And outside, clouds rolled over the mountains—heavy and wrong, veins of crimson lightning spidering across the sky.
End of Chapter 4