In the great hall of the Li Clan, the fire crackled but gave little warmth. Stone walls bore the emblems of wolves etched in silver, but even the proud banners couldn't mask the unease rippling through the room.
Elder Zhou stood by the window, hands folded behind his back, watching the frost creep across the stone.
"The boy took longer than expected to awaken. His first spirit ring will be late," he said, without turning.
Across from him, Elder Mo stirred his tea with a slow hand. "But his soul power is eight. That's not something to ignore."
Zhou snorted. "It is if you don't trust the bloodline it came from."
At the head of the chamber sat Grand Elder Yun, eyes half-lidded, as though asleep. Yet he missed nothing.
"He is Li Wei's son. And the grandson of Li Qingshan. Blood deeper than most here."
Zhou's eyes narrowed. "And yet he's cold. Distant. He doesn't rally the youth like Li Feng. Doesn't speak in the meetings. Doesn't try to."
Mo shrugged. "Perhaps he doesn't need to."
A knock interrupted the gathering. A servant stepped in with a scroll, bowing low.
"A message, honored elders. From Northpine Sect."
The room grew colder still.
Outside the lodge, the clan's younger members trained in the courtyard, their shouts loud and rehearsed. At the center stood Li Feng, his Bronze-Back Wolf spirit coiling behind him like a ghostly halo.
He parried, spun, barked orders. The youth followed.
Behind the training ring, Li Xue watched in silence, arms folded. Beside her, Li Rong leaned against a pillar, eyes half-closed.
"He knows how to put on a show," Xue murmured.
"He knows what the elders want to see," Li Rong replied.
"You don't seem worried."
"I'm not performing for them."
Xue gave a short laugh. "You think that'll keep you safe?"
Li Rong's gaze drifted toward the great lodge. "Nothing keeps anyone safe. Not in a place like this."
Inside the elder hall, the scroll lay open on the table.
"Northpine Sect requests that the most promising young wolves be sent to them for training," Zhou read aloud.
Mo frowned. "They want Li Feng. Clearly."
Yun opened his eyes. "They want influence. The boy is a pretext."
Zhou nodded. "It starts with one. Then they'll ask for tribute, then seats at meetings. And in time, their banner flies beside ours."
"Or over ours," Mo said quietly.
Elder Yun looked toward the fire. "The clan is too divided. Too many eyes on the same throne. If we send Feng, the sect will try to make him their hound."
Zhou's voice turned sharp. "And if we don't, they'll back another clan."
"The Fang or Huai families?" Mo asked. "They've been seeking favor."
Yun nodded. "And they have sons of age. But not one with power like Li Rong."
Silence.
Zhou scowled. "You're not seriously considering that boy as heir?"
"I'm not considering anyone," Yun said. "Not yet. But I will not hand this clan's throat to a smiling sect lord because a child shouts louder than another."
Later that evening, Li Wei met his father, Li Qingshan, atop the watchtower that overlooked Duskwind Hollow. Snow fell silently around them.
"They're restless," Wei said.
Qingshan chuckled, a deep sound from an old chest. "They've always been restless. Even when I held the banner, the wolves had too many teeth for one mouth to control."
Wei didn't smile. "They'll try to use Feng to bring in the sect. Zhou's pushing it already."
"Let him."
Wei looked at his father, confused.
"You think I made peace in this clan with clean hands?" Qingshan said, stepping to the edge. "Let them sharpen their blades. Let them think the old blood has gone soft."
He turned and looked south, toward the mountains.
"When Rong returns with his first ring, we'll speak of heirs. Not before."
That night, in the shadows beneath the old shrine, two cloaked figures met in secret.
"You've seen it?" one asked.
"Yes," the other replied. "Li Rong's soul power is higher than any youth in a decade."
A pause.
"Does he pose a threat?"
"He doesn't act like it."
The first figure grunted. "All the more dangerous. Send word to the sect. If the boy succeeds in his first hunt, we must begin... adjustments."
Back in his lodge, Li Rong sat alone, sharpening the same blade he always did.
He didn't know of the messages.
Didn't know of the sect's eyes watching.
Didn't care for the elders' whispers.
But he could feel the tension, heavy in the wind like a coming storm.
He was not yet strong.
But he would be.
And when he moved, it wouldn't be with noise. It would be with precision.