The rainy season had arrived. The land was damp and cold, and for Draven, the constant downpour not only rendered the roads of the territory muddy and difficult to traverse but also severely impacted the food supply of Black Flag Territory—especially dealing a blow to the hunting of magical beasts.

  This didn't just mean less meat on the table; it also meant that the main ingredient for brewing bloodwine was gradually running dry.

  Brewing bloodwine required fresh, magic-rich blood from magical beasts—a demand already hard to meet under normal circumstances. With the arrival of the rainy season, the already elusive magical beasts had become nearly impossible to track.

  Even Bran, an experienced hunter leading a seasoned team, had returned lately with pitiful results—few beasts, and of only barely acceptable quality.

  Though there were still some reserves of bloodwine in the underground storage of Black Flag Territory, the existing stock couldn't keep up with the daily consumption, which only drained without replenishment.

  Draven knew this couldn't go on. He wouldn't allow his warriors and family to rely on old stock, nor could he let bloodwine become a luxury.

  He stood at the stone house window, staring at the bleak, grey sky, contemplating a solution.

  "If only we could raise a magical beast," he muttered. The idea had crossed his mind many times before.

  Instead of risking lives every day to hunt, why not capture a large magical beast alive and raise it in captivity? He could regularly draw blood from it—if handled properly, there would be no need to kill it, and it could provide a steady supply for bloodwine brewing.

  Thus, the Ghost-faced Owl was sent out. As his best tracking contract beast, it was supposed to shine at a time like this.

  However, the Ghost-faced Owl had been gone for days, and there was still no word of any magical beast. If it weren't for the faint trace of their magical bond, Draven might have feared the creature had been slain.

  Fortunately, amid the bad news came an unexpected and uplifting report.

  Alaric—the fourteen-year-old fox-boy—had succeeded in awakening his bloodline for the first time, during a moment of intense mental strain. The news arrived on a rainy night.

  That night, Draven and Viola were engrossed in passionate lovemaking. The stone house was thick with the heat of desire, moans mingling with the sound of rain. In the height of their pleasure, a sudden urgent knock rang out at the door.

  Draven's brow furrowed, and he immediately stopped, visibly annoyed. He thought it was Liliana again—the mischievous little girl always causing trouble at night—but a touch of spiritual sensing told him the one outside was Ayla.

  The quiet fox-girl would never disturb him unless something serious had happened.

  He dressed quickly. Viola, her face still flushed, hastily threw on a robe and followed Draven out into the rain.

  As soon as the door opened, Ayla stood there, soaked but determined, her crimson eyes glowing with urgency.

  "Alaric's bloodline is awakening!"

  That one sentence made Viola's expression shift drastically. She rushed barefoot toward her brother's room without hesitation. Draven followed close behind, his face stern. He knew exactly what this moment meant for a young demi-human.

  Alaric was at a critical juncture. Inside the stone house, the boy was trembling all over, sweat pouring from his brow, his breathing erratic, and faint streaks of flame flickering across his skin. His hair stood on end like fire, and his usually calm face was contorted in pain and raw emotion.

  Without a moment's hesitation, Viola released the power of her own bloodline, trying to stabilize the raging energy inside her brother. She placed her palm on Alaric's back, gently channeling warm fire-elemental energy into him, soothing the raging spiritual flame.

  Draven stood guard, fully alert.

  The first awakening of a bloodline was the threshold for demi-humans to become truly powerful. Crossing it meant shedding one's ordinary self and gaining supernatural strength. Failing could lead to backlash, or even death.

  Alaric showed his resolve. He grit his teeth through the pain, refusing to faint or be consumed by the fire within him. Finally, with a sharp, clear cry—like the wail of a newborn fox—he was engulfed in a vibrant orange flame.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Foxfire blazed brightly inside the stone house, casting a red glow over every face. A flicker of emotion lit up in Draven's eyes—he had done it.

  Viola's eyes brimmed with tears. She pressed Alaric's shoulders tightly, guiding the foxfire back into his body.

  "Absorb it—master it. Quickly, Alaric!" Her voice trembled, but it was filled with certainty.

  This was the source of the fire-fox clan's power. If the flame born from awakening wasn't controlled from the start, it would become a blaze of self-destruction. But now, Alaric had done it. He successfully led the foxfire into his soul-sea, letting it resonate with his bloodline.

  Viola finally let out a deep breath, joy and pride lighting up her face.

  She knew better than anyone how difficult this trial had been for him. Though the fire-fox clan boasted noble origins, it had always been a matriarchal lineage. As a male, Alaric carried that burden from birth.

  Beyond the tribe's traditional matriarchal system, a more crucial issue lay at the heart of the matter: among the Firefox clan, the probability of males successfully awakening their bloodline was far lower than that of females. This wasn't just a matter of power inheritance—it was a question of survival and status.

  Yet Alaric, at only fourteen, had successfully completed his bloodline awakening.

  His success was no accident. The nourishment of bloodwine and the support of magical beast meat were certainly helpful external aids. But more importantly, it was his own relentless effort and unwavering determination that made it possible.

  He didn't want to stand behind his sister forever. He wanted to prove that even as a male, he could carve out his own path within the Firefox clan.

  Viola gazed at her younger brother, who had just completed his awakening, her heart brimming with pride and emotion.

  She understood well that Alaric's breakthrough was not merely a personal victory—it was a step forward for the entire Firefox tribe.

  And none of this could have happened without the constant support of the werewolf leader, Draven.

  If Draven hadn't accepted their exiled Firefox branch and provided them with ample resources and protection, the Firefox clan might have already been buried in the soil of this land.

  Viola cast a quiet glance at Draven, her gaze filled with complex emotions—respect, gratitude, and a trace of barely perceptible tenderness. But she didn't dwell on it and quickly refocused her attention, guiding her brother to fully draw the foxfire back into his body.

  As the final flicker of flame on Alaric's skin slowly faded, he finally opened his eyes.

  His eyes were bright and deep, glowing with a warm orange-red hue in the dark. Perhaps due to the freshly awakened magic within him, not yet fully balanced, two small flames of foxfire still burned quietly in his pupils, lending him an air of mystery—and even a touch of devilish charm.

  Standing nearby, Ayla twisted her fingers nervously. The moment Alaric opened his eyes, her face turned red like she had been shocked by lightning, and she quickly lowered her head.

  She didn't know why she reacted that way—only that her heart was pounding wildly. It was as if the clumsy, always-embarrassing Alaric had suddenly become someone else.

  Draven and Viola were clearly forgotten. Without saying a word, Alaric darted straight toward Ayla and threw his arms around her, holding her tightly in his embrace.

  Ayla gave a small struggle and murmured a half-hearted protest, but she didn't truly push him away. Instead, her hands gently wrapped around him in return.

  Draven watched the scene, the corner of his mouth twitching. He understood. He patted Viola on the shoulder and chuckled softly,"Let's go. Let the young ones have their moment."

  Viola nodded, a complex smile playing on her lips.

  Among demi-human tribes, pairing at thirteen or fourteen was not uncommon. Some tribes even started earlier. Draven rarely interfered in such matters of emotion—especially not now, when Alaric had just awakened and emotions ran high. This kind of release might, in its own way, be part of his growth too.

  The next morning at breakfast, the atmosphere was cheerful and lighthearted. Alaric's face was radiant; he looked like a whole new person. Sitting beside him, Ayla kept her head down, looking meek and obedient—like a newlywed girl in the village, shy and sweet.

  Draven sipped his soup and smirked, exchanging a knowing look only men would understand.

  Alaric tried to keep calm, but his face flushed bright red. He shot Draven a glance, then buried his head and focused on his food, not daring to look up again.

  Nearby, Liliana seemed to have discovered something new and curious. Her eyes darted between Alaric and Ayla, full of wonder.

  She leaned in for a sniff, wrinkled her little nose, and asked,"Why do you two smell… kind of different today?"

  Viola couldn't help but burst out laughing. Draven rolled his eyes and shoved a spoonful of fish soup into Liliana's bowl.

  "Stop imagining things. Drink your soup!"

  At the table, Viola seized the moment to announce Alaric's successful awakening, which was met with cheers and congratulations. Taking advantage of the lively mood, Draven tapped his ceramic bowl to draw everyone's attention.

  "Alaric, starting today, you're entering a new phase."

  His gaze turned serious as he looked at Alaric."After breakfast, pack your things. You and Ayla will move to Village No. 1. From now on, that's where you'll be stationed."

  Alaric blinked, clearly surprised. But when he saw his sister made no objection, he nodded solemnly.

  He understood Draven's intention well. Village No. 1 was near the core hunting zone and served as a key training base for bloodline warriors. There, he would undergo real trials.

  He also knew that bloodline warriors were the territory's most valuable asset, and that his future was full of potential. With training from Bran and the others, he was determined to become a true warrior.

  As for Ayla—Viola now had enough capable assistants by her side, and the girl's duties had been fulfilled. Sending her with Alaric was both a reward and a form of liberation.

  Yet as they prepared to depart, Alaric showed a flash of youthful vulnerability. He lowered his head and murmured to Viola,"Sis, I'm going to miss you."

  His eyes reddened, his reluctance obvious. Draven rolled his eyes and grumbled, giving the boy a firm push up onto his horse.

  "Go on, don't start bawling like a little girl!"

  Alaric was long used to his brother-in-law's roughness. With Ayla, he mounted his Nightmare Horse and sped off into the night.

  Once on the road, Alaric lit up again, like an untamed young beast unleashed. He clung to Ayla's waist and chattered excitedly in her ear, painting vivid pictures of their future together.