The ceremony should have ended with Dagan's triumph. His mutated stag had left the tribe in awe, half admiring and half unsettled. The chief wore his satisfaction openly, a smile breaking the lines of his weathered face. Pride clung to him like armor, and for a moment it seemed the night would close on his son's glory.
Then Kael stepped forward.
The murmurs began at once. "He has no right." "He carries no Stagheart blood." Yet he walked without hesitation, his gaze steady, his pace deliberate. Haron's eyes followed him, calm but sharp, as if he alone understood what might unfold.
Kael pressed his hand to the carved roots of the Stagheart totem. He drew a line of blood across his palm and let it drip into the stone.
The runes came alive.
A surge tore through his chest, sharp enough to break bone, yet his expression remained composed. The totem drank deep of his blood and the air turned heavy, as if the Vale itself had stilled.
Then the shadow rose.
It unfurled behind him, larger than the stag, larger than any form the villagers could name. At one moment it seemed to carry wings, at another the coils of a serpent, then the horns of some beast that had never walked their world. Its eyes were nothing but void, and the fire in the clearing bent low, shrinking as if afraid to be seen.
Children cried. Hunters gripped their spears only to find their arms trembling. Elders sat stiff and pale, unable to form words.
Lyra's voice, faint and afraid, broke the silence. "Father… what is that?"
Haron's reply came quiet and heavy. "The totem accepted his blood. Yet it is no stag."
Kael felt the shadow claw at his veins, its hunger wild and endless. He forced his thoughts into order, a chessboard laid in his mind. Stay silent. Obey. You will return when I command, not before. The weight of it pressed harder, testing his will, but slowly it bent to him. The shape folded inward, dissolving back into his blood.
The clearing released a single breath as one.
Whispers spread. "A curse." "A spirit of death." "The forest rejects him."
The chief's voice rang loud and hard. "This is not the Stagheart's blessing. He brings danger into our midst."
Haron stood firm, his eyes never leaving Kael. "The runes lit. The totem took his blood. None can deny it. If danger lies with him, then the Vale will decide."
Lady Sira's voice was smooth, cutting through the noise. "Let him be tested. At dawn he enters the Vale. If he returns, the spirits have chosen. If not, we will be free of him."
Dagan's smile widened. "The Vale will swallow him whole."
Kael's reply was steady, his voice calm enough to chill. "At dawn, I will enter. If I return empty, then you may cast me out. If I return with more, then the spirits have spoken."
The villagers whispered and argued, yet his calm words lingered like smoke. None saw the full truth.
Within, Kael's thoughts burned. He had chosen restraint, binding the shadow so that the tribe would see only a cursed awakening rather than the full horror of its form. To reveal it openly would have turned them all into enemies. Still, he had left the ripple free to run outward. Beyond the Vale, beyond their borders, others would feel it. Tribes would stir, kingdoms would whisper, and fear would grow without a name. Fear scattered across the world was another piece on his board. He had no soldiers, no wealth, no allies, but he had this: a shadow that could make the world tremble.
The villagers saw only a boy marked with a curse. Kael knew better. He had tested his power, hidden it in plain sight, and already set the first stones of a game none of them could yet imagine.
Above the clearing, the stars flickered as if some vast hand had brushed against their light.