Chapter 3
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Back in the dim silence of San Qi's chamber, the walls seemed to breathe with the weight of his thoughts. His body remained still, but his mind raced like a wild beast in a cage. Rage burned low in his gut, mixing with fear, humiliation, and something sharper—resolve.
He dug deep, past the pain, past the betrayal, past even the poison in his veins—searching his memory for anything, anything, that could give him a chance.
And then, like a spark in the dark, he remembered.
His grandfather's voice—hoarse with age and secrets—echoed in his mind.
"There's a ritual, boy. Not taught to cowards, not meant for fools. A forbidden path—older than the Elders, darker than the moonless night. Black Wolf magic."
He had dismissed it back then as one of the old man's grim tales. But now, lying on the edge of death, it was the only thread of hope.
The Ritual of Reclamation.
A forbidden rite used to rebuild the body from ruin—to tear it apart and stitch it back stronger. It was outlawed generations ago, not only because of its unnatural power... but because of its cost. The ingredients alone would curdle the blood of most wolves:
Poison.
Blood from the innocent.
Fresh flesh—bone and muscle, willingly taken or violently claimed.
And the heart of the one who betrayed you most.
It was madness. A curse masquerading as salvation.
But what choice did he have?
The poison in his veins, instead of killing him, might become the first offering. He was already halfway there. If he could endure it—bend the venom to his will—he could begin the rite.
His lips twitched in the faintest smile.
"You fed me poison, brother," he thought. "Let's see if I can make it power."