“Blood for blood,” Nicero intoned.
I sliced my palm without hesitation, pressing it to the bark. The Moon-root drank greedily, veins glowing brighter as my blood sank into its depths.
Nicero mirrored the motion, his blood joining mine in a darkened spiral.
“Bone for bone,” the elder continued.
Pain exploded in my shoulder as invisible pressure crushed down on my collarbone. I screamed, the sound ripped from my lungs as my wolf howled inside me. It wasn’t breaking — it was rewriting, restructuring the foundation of what I was.
Nicero staggered, teeth bared as the same force carved through him.
“Territory for territory,” the elder said.
The chamber vanished.
I was standing barefoot in the heart of Blackfang forest, roots coiling around my ankles, stars swirling violently above me. I felt Silvermoon’s presence pull at me from the east — distant, fading — while Blackfang surged up from the soil beneath my feet, dark and unyielding.
Choose, the mountain whispered.
I didn’t hesitate.
Blackfang.
The word echoed through me like thunder.
The forest collapsed inward, slamming back into the ritual chamber with enough force to knock me off my feet.