Bane handed Dem two glass vials, each filled with a deep crimson substance that shimmered faintly in the light.
"The Rat King's blood is too strong to be bound by the diluted mixtures used in tribal rites," the Eagle Beastkin said.
Dem turned the vials slowly in his hands. "You know about the rites?"
"I know the secrets the shaman keep shrouded from your eyes," Bane answered. "The Tribals' blood magic is potent, but it is not your blood. It is neither connected to you nor strong enough. Have your shaman create two new tattoos."
He passed Dem two carefully drawn images.
"A rat and a black panther?" Dem asked.
"Yes," Bane said. "Your birth mother and your twin. Their blood will help you control the change — and strengthen what already lies within you."
His voice sharpened. Feathers erupted outward, his form swelling into the massive golden eagle. With one beat of his wings, he surged upward, circled once, and then streaked west toward the coast.
Dem walked back toward camp, feeling Telo and the Sub-Chiefs waiting for him before he even saw them.
They straightened when he appeared, scanning his face for answers.
"Everything alright, Commander?" Telo asked. There was an edge of caution hidden beneath the calm.
Dem nodded. "An ally approached. One whose presence must remain secret for now. Resume normal stance — no danger."
Telo exhaled, relief passing across the Sub-Chiefs' faces. He dismissed them with a gesture of his spear, then matched Dem's stride as they walked.
"You look troubled," Telo said quietly.
"I am," Dem admitted. "Old memories surfaced — ones I didn't know I had." He hesitated. "Could you tell me about Ember?"
Telo blinked — surprised by the question, then softening. "Don't punch me… but she was beautiful." He raised his hands quickly. "Not strikingly so like a Frostridge girl. More like a sunset. Peaceful. Serene. The kind of soul-stirring beauty that makes you feel… quiet inside."
Dem groaned. "You have a gift for storytelling. And I'd prefer if you never describe my birth mother as stirring your soul again."
Telo laughed under his breath. "Fair. But she was also commanding. The kind of woman whose crew would die for her without hesitation."
"Thanks," Dem said, eyes drifting toward his family's tent. "The shaman is visiting."
The tent flap opened just as they approached. The Swiftwind shaman — bare feet, body painted in white swirls — stepped out wearing a broad, warm smile.
"I hope you are well, dasai."
Dem smiled back. "You look good, dosu. New paint?"
The shaman chuckled. "I met the young woman you rescued from the slave camp. She's inside preparing for the blood rite ritual."
At that moment, Ai, Yada, and Gram stepped out behind her. Their expressions were focused, serious.
Gram approached him first, hands folded. "We'd like your opinion, Dem."
Dem tensed. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Gram said gently. "Our family is small. We wish to foster the young woman you rescued."
Dem blinked — caught between surprise and caution. "Her blood rite memories are likely to be… disturbing."
The blood rite always was — a lifetime of memories awakening at once, beast form sealed, corruption burned away.
"If you are against it," Gram continued, "another Swiftwind family can take her in. We leave the choice to you."
Dem glanced at Telo. "Meet me at the Travelers' compound in two hours."
Telo nodded, and as he passed Ai, he threw her a wink. Ai stared at him, stunned, before breaking into a wide grin.
"I'm not against it," Dem said, turning back to Gram and the shaman. He handed the shaman the two glass vials.
The shaman accepted them—then stiffened.
"These are filled with… such power. Whose blood is this?"
Dem shook his head. He would not risk saying the names aloud, not even in the safest place.
"These will completely seal my bloodline."
The shaman held the vials reverently. "This is more than enough."
Dem handed her the two careful drawings, one of a rat, the other of a black panther. "Use these forms. If there's any blood left after my rite… use it for Nokomis."
"That's the girl's name?" the shaman asked. They'd learned little from the traumatized young woman. She barely spoke—just huddled in blankets, hollow-eyed.
"Yes," Dem said quietly. She had whispered it to him in delirium after he killed the slaver commander.
The shaman exhaled. "Dem… she's fragile. Emotionally, spiritually. She's not ready for the rite."
Her voice lowered. "And clan law says fosterlings must undergo the rite—or be sent away."
"Come with me," Dem said, opening the tent flap. "Gram, you too."
Gram nodded and followed without hesitation, despite Ai and Yada staring after them in confusion.
Inside, the shaman sealed the tent with magic. "What is this about?"
Dem turned to her. "Remember how Yada's shoulder was healed?"
The shaman's eyes widened. "You don't mean—"
"I do," Dem said.
His bloodline had forced the beastkin change in Yada, Dern, Telo, and the shaman weeks ago. In Yada's case, years of pain vanished. Something in that first forced transformation had mended more than flesh.
"It's only a theory," Dem continued. "But I believe the first change strengthens a person. Maybe even revitalizes them to some extent. Body and spirit."
The shaman considered that. Since her own change, she had felt… different. Sharper. More potent. More alive.
"Why ask Gram?" she asked.
Dem smiled. "Because she's my elder—and important to our family."
Gram squeezed his arm. "I don't know what this is about, but thank you for thinking of me."
"The last time was accidental," the shaman said. "Can you induce the change at will?"
Dem nodded. "I believe so."
"What change?" Gram asked.
The shaman answered softly. "The beastkin change."
Gram gasped, hand flying to her chest as she finally pieced it all together. "Is that why Yada's shoulder healed? What was her form?"
"A dark feline," the shaman guessed. "Perhaps a jaguarundi."
Gram's eyes brightened like a girl's. "I'll bet she was beautiful. Dem… can you truly do this?"
"Only if you're willing," Dem said.
Gram lifted her chin. "This old woman has dreamed of this her entire life. I am willing."
Dem turned toward the blankets where Nokomis trembled beneath her furs.
"Nokomis."
His tone carried command, steady and sharp. The young woman's head lifted, eyes wide.
The air thickened.
Darkened.
Dem's irises bled into red.
"Escadomai."
Crimson mist exploded outward, swallowing the tent.
When it cleared—
A pine marten wriggled excitedly out of a pile of painted white robes, hopping and spinning in circles.
Across the tent, Gram's beastkin form emerged: a sleek river otter, gray-furred with webbed feet. She clapped them together joyfully, tail swishing.
The blankets around Nokomis fell away—revealing a small, delicate spotted whitetail. A rare beast. Her coat was deep brown, with white dapples trailing from her ears to her tail. Her large eyes blinked shyly as she stamped a hoof against the floor.
Dem swayed.
"I can't… hold it," he whispered.
He collapsed, and all three beastkin reverted to their human bodies at once.
Dem woke a short while later, sitting up slowly, unable to ignore the pounding in his skull. A damp cloth slipped from his forehead and landed in his lap.
"How long?" he rasped.
"Only a few minutes," the white shaman replied, her smile bright and almost childlike. "Thank you again, dasai."
Dem turned toward Gram. She beamed at him — and though her wrinkles remained, some had softened, and a new vitality glowed in her warm brown eyes.
"Thank you, Dem," she said, smoothing his hair like any grandmother would. "Was I beautiful?"
Dem laughed through the pain and nodded. "Very."
"That explains why I've always loved to swim," Gram mused. She knelt beside him with ease that surprised even her and wrapped her arms around him. "I do feel better. Not so worn down."
"Well, that's good to hear." Dem's gaze shifted to the girl across the tent. "How are you, Nokomis?"
Her eyes were clearer now — less haunted, more anchored in the present.
"Call me Noko, dosu."
Dem blinked, then laughed. "You've got that backward, Noko. I'm almost certainly younger than you. That would make me the dasai."
Noko shook her head with surprising firmness. "No. Your age doesn't matter. You will be my dosu, and I your dasai."
Dem paused… then shrugged with a small, genuine smile.
"Little sister, then? Okay."
The shaman stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Noko's head before turning to the others.
"Call in Yada and Ai," she said, voice lifting with purpose. "We can begin the blood rite."