Chapter 9: The Ring and the One-Eyed Boy
The ring wasn't summoned without purpose. After the Lawstone ritual, Kael made his next decree—every pack member would be tested. Strength would earn status; resolve would earn rank. No favoritism. No bloodline bias.
That's when Tavon stepped forward.
"I challenge the Alpha," he said, voice calm but iron-willed.
Gasps followed. Tavon, the crippled outcast? The son of a traitor?
Kael didn't smile. He simply nodded. "Then step into the ring. Let your heart speak louder than your father's shadow."
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The ring was nothing more than scorched earth surrounded by jagged stones. It wasn't carved by masons or outlined by chalk—it was made by the claws and blood of those who came before. This was the Ring of Flame, where initiations, duels, and executions alike were performed.
Smoke still clung to the blackened soil. The pack stood in a wide circle, silent. Tension laced every breath.
Kael's bare feet stepped into the ring, his cloak discarded. His frame was lean, not bulky like most Alphas, but the quiet strength in his eyes made many flinch.
Across from him, a boy limped forward. He was smaller, gaunt, with one eye white and dead from an old injury. His name was Tavon, the last son of a disgraced warrior who once tried to usurp Kael's father. Tavon had trained in silence, outcast, mocked—but he never left.
Flam watched closely from the edge of the circle. Seth stood beside him, bandaged and still sore from the last spar.
"Why him?" Seth whispered.
"Because every story needs a reminder of what pain looks like," Flam replied, eyes never leaving Tavon.
Kael didn't move yet. He watched Tavon, measured his breath, read his posture. This wasn't a brawl. It was an echo.
"You've never shifted," Tavon growled.
"Neither have you," Kael replied.
"But I don't need claws to fight you." Tavon raised his fists.
Kael exhaled.
A pulse of heat spread under his skin. The Chaos Bloodline stirred. His bones ached. His vision blurred slightly. He had shifted once—and the memory still haunted him. His wolf spirit remained wild inside, barely leashed.
The crowd grew tense.
Tavon struck first, a blur of motion and desperation. Kael dodged, barely. A second blow caught his shoulder. He stumbled.
Mocking whispers stirred.
"Still weak." "Just pretty skin."
Kael grit his teeth. He clenched his fist—and his palm split. A shimmer of energy burst forth.
His nails elongated. Bones cracked. His eyes turned gold, glowing.
But it wasn't a full shift. Not yet.
System Notice:
Alpha Instinct Triggered.
Warning: Incomplete Shift - Control Threshold at 47%
Kael growled.
Tavon lunged again—only to be slammed backward by a sudden sweep of Kael's clawed hand. The boy crashed into the dirt, rolling to a stop near the edge of the ring.
Kael breathed heavily, clutching his chest. He could feel it—the beast beneath the skin, begging for control.
Tavon pushed himself up, blood dripping from his lip. "Finish it."
Kael stepped forward.
But he stopped.
He extended a hand.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Tavon looked up, shocked.
"You're part of this pack," Kael said quietly. "If you're willing to bleed for it, you deserve to rise with it."
Tavon hesitated… then took the hand.
The pack howled.
Above them, a red streak crossed the dawn sky.
And far away, in the Hollow Shade, Tamir's scouts watched from the trees.