Sage’s heart hammered in her chest, a visceral tremor rippling through her body as she stared at Katherine. Fear took root, deep and primal—Sage wasn’t just unsettled, she was terrified. The memory of Katherine’s raw power, channeled so easily in the confrontation, haunted her thoughts. Sage couldn’t help but wonder if it was Katherine herself or the twisting influence of her three familiars—Shade, Luna, and Sparky—that had awakened something fierce and animalistic within her. Sage knew enough of magic to recognize a leak in the soul; her theory only grew firmer with the knowledge that most witches bonded with one familiar, maybe two, but three was unheard of unless something wild and untamed dwelled beneath the surface.

  As she tried to steady her breathing, Sage’s senses sharpened. Katherine’s aura was overwhelming—an electric, aggressive presence that seemed to brush against Sage’s instincts, warning her away. It reminded her of how a pack’s alpha would dominate, not with violence, but with a presence so intense it bent others to its will. Sage realized, with a shudder, that Katherine’s familiars might not have chosen her out of loyalty, but out of necessity, compelled by that same force. The thought unsettled her deeply; it upended her understanding of companionship and made her question her own safety.

  For the first time in ages, Sage’s inner voice—the one that usually urged her to assert herself, to challenge for dominance—fell completely silent. Fear drowned out every other impulse. She shrank inward, uncertain whether to flee or submit, haunted by the realization that she was no longer in control of her own reactions.

  The tribe member who had demanded the fight—a ritual Sage dimly remembered from her own upbringing—stood nearby. His posture was rigid, skin ashen despite years spent under the sun. Sage knew the rules: in Lycari culture, dominance and territory mattered more than words. Ritual combat was a way to resolve disputes and establish social hierarchy, especially when a lone Lycari wandered into another’s tribe. The gestures—the way he stood within reach of Katherine, yet didn’t quite enter her space—spoke volumes. He was allowing for the possibility of violence, yet signaling submission by his proximity.

  Katherine’s voice broke through Sage’s spiraling thoughts. She kept her eyes fixed on the tribesman, her tone neutral but direct. “Can you ask him why he insisted you fight?” Katherine’s words were steady, but her body language radiated caution—a subtle shield, keeping emotions tightly reined in.

  Sage swallowed hard, voice trembling as she answered, “It was because I don’t have a tribe.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “For Lycari, being without a pack means you’re an outsider, vulnerable and potentially dangerous. When two lone Lycari cross paths—or when a stranger enters a tribe’s territory—instincts demand a challenge, like two dogs fighting over the same bone. Our nature won’t let us coexist without establishing the pecking order first.” The words tasted bitter, both confession and warning.

  Katherine turned to Sage, her voice softer but edged with concern. “If you knew this, why did you come with us? We could have left you at camp,” she asked, her question layered with worry for Sage’s well-being and a hint of frustration at the risk.

  Sage hesitated, torn between honesty and pride. “My instincts wouldn’t allow it,” she finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I was in someone else’s territory. The beast inside me wanted to claim dominance, even though the healer part of me only wanted to help.” Sage’s fingers twisted nervously. “But… the tribesman wants to speak.” She lowered her voice, glancing anxiously at Katherine.

  Katherine turned, inviting the tribesman forward with a careful gesture. He met her gaze, crossing his arms with deliberate slowness—a sign of vulnerability in Lycari ritual, exposing his chest and neck. Lifting his chin, he spoke in the old tongue, voice resonant with ritual significance. “Vorr ghraan shuurak.” He closed his eyes, baring his throat—the most defenseless gesture a Lycari could make, symbolizing absolute trust and the surrender of leadership.

  Katherine glanced at Sage, confusion flickering across her features, but she didn’t falter. “This is your turn to speak,” she said, her voice gentle yet uncertain, sensing that the ritual held more meaning than she understood.

  The tension cracked as Sage let out a startled laugh, unable to contain herself. She immediately regretted it—laughter was seen as irreverence in Lycari custom, especially during solemn moments. But the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her, and for a heartbeat, she let her fear bleed into humor.

  The tribesman bristled, wounded pride flashing in his eyes, yet he held his tongue out of respect for Katherine’s apparent authority. “Why do you laugh?” he asked, voice taut, careful not to challenge the new leader directly.

  Sage turned to Katherine, eyes wide with disbelief. “Katherine, are you a Lycari?” she asked, her tone a mix of awe and confusion, struggling to understand the ritual’s outcome.

  Katherine’s brows knit together, bewilderment clear in her voice. “No, why?” she replied, torn between concern for Sage and uncertainty about her own role in the unfolding ritual.

  Sage drew a shaky breath, her fear mingling with reluctant respect. “He just named you leader,” she said quietly. “The phrase means ‘the tribe recognizes your rule.’ It’s a formal recognition. In Lycari tradition, it’s the greatest gesture of acceptance—they only surrender leadership to someone who’s proven themselves, usually in ritual combat or by force of presence.” Sage’s words hung in the air, echoing with new significance. For a moment, she felt both powerless and protected, caught between the instinct to flee and the need to belong.

  …

  Later, Sage and the tribal elder named Grey explained things to Katherine. Grey, likely named for his full head of gray hair, helped clarify the tribe's customs. The Lycari in this group—pack, as Katherine suspected, though she kept the thought to herself—would not challenge her leadership. When Katherine confessed that she had never intended to lead, only to control her teammate with as little harm as possible, her voice wavered between resolve and regret. The responsibility pressed on her like a weight she hadn’t asked to carry, her sense of duty clashing with her desire for distance.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Sage and Grey exchanged a meaningful glance, uncertainty flickering in their eyes before Sage spoke again. After a hesitant pause, Sage translated Grey’s next question, her tone gentle but uneasy. “He wants to know if you would want to become Lycari.”

  Katherine’s answer was quiet, but her conviction was clear. “I would rather not,” she admitted, her gaze lowering. A tangle of emotions knotted in her chest—loyalty to her familiars, fear of what she might lose, and anxiety over severing bonds that ran soul-deep. The thought of letting go of those connections to become something else entirely left her unsettled. “Have too many connections that may be affected if I did.” In truth, Katherine wasn’t sure how those bonds had formed, only that they were a part of her she was unwilling to risk, no matter the cost.

  Gray nodded pulling a small vial from somewhere, Katherine didn’t want to know where the vial came from. He placed it under his unusually sharp canine, producing a liquid from the tooth.

  “Lycari venom,” Sage informed. “Generally, it is injected into someone. If someone isn’t string enough to survive the injection, it can be drank it hurts a bit more, but it is slower to take effect if it works.”

  Katherine had a feeling that Sage had experience with the slower and more painful option, but at least survivable. She did assume that the ‘injection’ was possibly a bite— but didn’t press.

  Katherine accepted the vial, placing it in her bracelet, band of the unseen legion, Katherine sat for a moment wondering why he even gave it to her? Was it so she could turn later? So she could turn someone else?

  “Katherine?” Sage asked pulling Katherine from her thoughts

  “Hm?” Katherine asked, oblivious to what Grey was proposing.

  “He is willing to teach you to call the tribe if you need help.” Sage repeated.

  “I’m not a Lycari,” Katherine pointed out. “The best I can do is a poor imitation.”

  Sage scoffed. “I find that very doubtful.”

  …

  Katherine stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as Gray demonstrated the technique for calling the tribe. Edwin and Devrin stood beside her, their faces set in concentration. Under Gray’s stern guidance, each of them practiced manipulating the muscles in their throat and diaphragm to produce the distinctive howl—the ancient signal used by the Lycari to summon their kin. The training was difficult; their first attempts sounded more like the wails of dying cats than the powerful summoning cry. Gray gave a rare, toothy grin as they finished, indicating it was time to move on to another part of the peninsula for further instruction.

  As the group dispersed, Katherine fell into step beside Sage on a narrow, overgrown trail that wound away from the busy paths. Glancing over, Katherine asked quietly, “Are you alright?” Her voice was careful, her concern genuine. “Any... urges?” She winced at her own phrasing, wanting to be delicate given the precarious nature of Sage’s condition.

  Sage shook her head and let out a slow breath. “No. He’s gone silent—thankfully,” she replied, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Sage paused, searching her memory for the last time her mind hadn’t been plagued by the animalistic need for dominance. “If you use that skill—the one that summoned the drake—I can’t promise things won’t change.”

  Katherine frowned, her tone bitter. “I didn’t summon a drake,” she protested. She had tried to explain countless times that controlling her storm dragon familiar, Sparky, wasn’t the same as calling a drake from thin air. The confusion lingered, especially since everyone had seen Sparky send the beast away once the fight was done.

  Sage raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. “I’m not saying you can. But you used a skill—summon storm or whatever it’s called—and a drake burst into the fray. I saw it myself during that battle with the fleshdrifter.”

  Katherine processed Sage’s words, then lowered her voice further. “What do you mean by ‘he has gone silent’?” She glanced around, wary of anyone overhearing.

  Sage hesitated, drawing in a shaky breath. “It’s what I call it,” she explained. “There’s a second voice in my head—my own, but warped. It’s primal, territorial, obsessed with dominance and the hunt. Every Lycari has it. Sometimes it takes over, sometimes it vanishes for days.”

  Katherine watched Sage carefully, concern etched on her face. “Neither sounds healthy,” she guessed, thinking of the constant tension Sage must endure.

  Sage tried to continue, voice growing distant. “It’s not, and it affects my personality and my diet—”

  Katherine cut her off with a sudden, blunt question. “Have you ever thought about starting your own tribe?” She shrugged. “I get it might be rough at first—once everyone’s done with the proverbial ‘dick measuring,’ it’d probably settle down.” Her casual mention of male posturing made even the most stoic adventurers stare, surprise flickering across their faces. Unfazed, Katherine smirked. “Come on, some of you must be compensating for something.”

  With Katherine and Sage as the only women among five prospect adventurers and their proctors, the men flushed red, embarrassed by Katherine’s directness and her not-so-subtle jab at their egos.

  Katherine’s intentions were honest—she wanted to help. Yet, having little knowledge of Lycari culture, she could only guess at what truly went on within their tribes.

  Sage’s expression darkened. She spoke softly, voice tinged with fear. “I’d be dead before the month ended if I tried. The Lycari settle far from cities for a reason. In urban areas, our kind draws unwanted attention—city guards investigate any sign of tribal gatherings, and if a hunt’s needed, starving the inner beast too long risks catastrophe. A stray hunter or farmer caught in the wrong place at the wrong time could mean exposure, or worse, a massacre. Out here, we’re left alone. That’s survival.”

  She continued, “Each tribe has two leaders: the elder, like Gray, who maintains order, wisdom, and tradition. Elders rarely meet in person—they know if two tribes cross paths, conflict is inevitable. The second leader is a fighter, the one who leads in battle and teaches the young to harness their beast, and the reason for tribe on tribe conflicts. The Lycari way is built on strength, hierarchy, and secrecy. It’s the only way we survive.”

  “If I may offer advice,” Katherine commented, fully knowing that even if Sage didn’t want to hear it she would say it anyway. “It is better to be a warrior in a garden, than a warrior on a battlefield.”

  Sage’s inner beast rumbled in agreement: "The alpha is right. It is always better to be able to guard your territory than to let it be taken from you." For a fleeting moment, Sage felt a strange shift—a rare sense of deference from the beast that usually claimed dominance in her mind. It unsettled her, unsettling enough that she paused, grappling with an odd mixture of respect and unease toward Katherine. The beast had never acknowledged anyone as its equal, let alone someone it might consider above it. That realization sent a ripple of fear down Sage’s spine, her suspicion sharpening as she studied Katherine more closely, searching for any sign of what could inspire such recognition.

  Sage’s voice came out low and wary, the tension in her body unmistakable. “What are you?” she asked, unable to mask the mixture of suspicion and fear fluttering at the edge of her words, her mind racing with the possibilities of what Katherine could be.

  Katherine just clapped Sage on the back, her tone light and teasing in stark contrast. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she replied, her cryptic response only deepening the sense of mystery between them.