Salt And Pepper

by Hiver_Noir

Summary:

Gay werewolves from outer space and one unfortunate fox.

Notes:

UNBETAED. Read at your own risk.

Chapter 1

All he could see was darkness.

A dense, suffocating shroud that pulsed with every faint beat of Jiaoqiu’s heart. His senses flickered like a dying ember with the echo of distant screams, the metallic stench of blood clogging his nostrils, and the cold pressure of steel beneath his fevered skin.

He was dying. And yet, he was not allowed to die.

Agony flashed through him as his consciousness sharpened just enough to recognise the warmth still seeping from his neck, where a sharp claw had torn the flesh. Jiaoqiu shivered, his lungs burning with each shallow breath as the poison snaked through his veins, eating him alive from the inside.

Then there was a movement beside him. Massive claws tangled in Jiaoqiu's sweaty hair as a harsh voice reached his ear.

"Breathe."

Claws pricked at his jaw as some viscous liquid dripped past his parted lips. The taste of iron clung to his tongue, thick and cloying, as it forced its way down his throat. It was neither water, nor medicine.

It was blood.

Hot and bitter, like a sacrament to a god who demanded suffering as worship. It poured down his chin as he choked on it. But the claws only gripped him tighter, stabbing crescents into his pale skin until he swallowed or drowned.

Jiaoqiu gagged, and the claws dug deeper until he swallowed again, his throat bobbing around the coppery horror of it all.

His mouth burned. Not with fire, but with acid. His vision flashed, as the darkness receded briefly, swaming in fractured glimpses: rusty fangs too close to his throat, monstrous shadows swaying with the ship’s violent tremors, emerald eyes glittering in the half-light like two dying suns.

Hoolay.

The name slipped through his mind as another trickle of bitter liquid filled his mouth, forcing life back into a body begging for oblivion.

A chuckle echoed in the void, deep as thunder rolling over bone-dry earth. The wolf's breath scorched his cheek as he leaned closer.

"You wished death upon both of us. Now you'll find out how long I can deny it."

Jiaoqiu’s spine arched off the floor, a mere puppet twitched by invisible strings of agony. Muscles and tendons stiffened as venom and blood mingled inside him, twisting his guts into knots. A whimper escaped his lips before he could stifle it.

Hoolay's fangs snapped at his ear in amusement.

"Good."

The word dripped with satisfaction as Hoolay hauled him upright against his chest. The claws hooked under Jiaoqiu's jaws again, prying it open despite how his teeth clenched in disgust. Something wet and warm pressed against his lips, but this time it wasn’t blood. It was flesh.

Jiaoqiu retched, his body convulsing in protest, but Hoolay’s grip was merciless. Bile rose in his throat, but before he could spit out the bloody piece of meat, the claws clamped his mouth shut. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as Hoolay leant towards him and murmured against the shell of his ear.

"Swallow."

And so he did. Not by choice, but by brute mechanics, his jaw wrenched open again by unyielding fingers, his throat massaged until the reflex overcame the revulsion. Every harsh breath now tasted of iron and carnivorous musk. Tears ran through the dirt on his face as he bit down on the piece. Even the texture was wrong, too sinewy, too alive, even in death.

Jiaoqiu’s eyelids fluttered, as shadows loomed at the edges of his vision. The walls of the star skip bled into cavernous maws, whispering with voices he knew were not here. His mother’s laughter, brittle as autumn leaves. The general’s voice, clear and commanding, before it dissolved into Jiaoqiu’s own wet gurgle.

No, not again, not again...

A claw lifted his chin. Hoolay growled something, but Jiaoqiu was already slipping back. Memories dragged over him like burial silk as he recalled the moment before a sharp claw dug into his neck.

Mine, his memory hissed, you are mine, you will always be mine.

"Stop.” The word made its way out of his parched throat, and the claws curled against his skin, sharp and real, just enough to make him realise he had spoken. But then the grip on his face loosened. Hoolay muttered something else before Jiaoqiu plunged into darkness once more.

***

Jiaoqiu stirred, consciousness crawling back through the fog like a thief. Heat radiated from his skin, feverish and slick with sweat, despite the frigid air gnawing at his lungs. His limbs were leaden, trapped under a pile of furs and heavy blankets, but his insides ached with a bone-deep cold. Even his thoughts were sluggish as he forced himself to take in his surroundings.

He was in a tent, a large one, stitched together from thick cloth and reinforced with metal and sinew. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, underlined by something darker: iron and wet fur. A brazier smoldered nearby, casting flickering shadows on the white walls that seemed to breathe with each gust of wind.

The ringing in Jiaoqiu’s ears slowly subsided as the distant sounds began to cut into his consciousness. There were growls threaded between words spoken too low for meaning, sharp laughter and the clang of metal on bone or stone. The sounds one might expect in a war camp. A borisin one.

Jiaoqiu’s fingers clawed against the furs, testing his body's betrayal. His strength was exhausted, his pulse too fast and too weak under his clammy skin. The wound on his neck was throbbing, bandaged but still sore.

Why? Why had they dragged him here instead of letting him bleed to death on the Loufu?

The tent’s walls shuddered with the wind, snowflakes hissed as they fell onto the embers of the brazier and died there. Behind these walls, he imagined a world painted with white and red.

With all the strength he could muster, Jiaoqiu slowly sat up. He was still wearing his usual clothes, the fabric torn and stiff from the blood.

Jiaoqiu looked at the tent flap in front of him. It seemed to be silent outside for a minute until a deep, guttural voice came in, followed by a round of short, barking laughter. Jiaoqiu shivered. He wanted to know what was outside, what was waiting for him. He tried to stand up to get closer, but as soon as he put his weight on his legs, they trembled and he stumbled down with a soft thud.

Jiaoqiu gasped as he slumped back onto the furs, his legs refusing to carry him. The impact sent a dull ache radiating through his ribs, but worse was the sound his fall had made. Too slight for human ears to hear. But not for theirs.

Outside, the growling voices paused. Then footsteps crunched through the snow in slow, deliberate steps towards the tent, each one making Jiaoqiu’s pulse stutter. His golden eyes remained fixed on the swaying hides covering the entrance.

The tent flap ripped open with a gust of cold wind, and the beast stepped inside.

He was huge, with shoulders almost touching the poles as he ducked through. The creature’s sharp-edged snout opened to reveal yellowed fangs in what might have been meant as a grin. His ears twitched forward with keen interest, while the beast’s grey eyes rested on Jiaoqiu’s face. The fur on his arms was dark and matted with old blood.

When he spoke, his voice was rough and growly, but strangely measured, the cadence of a soldier clearly audible beneath all the hunger.

"You’re awake." There was no relief in those words, it was more of a simple statement. “And here I thought you weren't going to make it." His lips curled again slightly over sharp teeth before he continued dryly. "I suppose I'm your nursemaid now." 

With those words, he tossed a water bag on the ground next to Jiaoqiu.

Jiaoqiu stared at the water bag as if it might lunge at him, a sudden reminder of what his body was missing. His tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth, his throat sore from the abuse it had suffered earlier.

"How… How long have I been here?” The question burst out of him before he could restrain himself, his voice hoarse and small under the weight of fever and fear. Fear for himself, yes, but even more for the general and Moze. His heart clenched at the thought.

The borisin scoffed.

"Does it matter, fox? You’re still alive." Those cold eyes travelled over Jiaoqiu's form, making him all too aware of his own weakness. The borisin moved forward, and Jiaoqiu almost backed away, but there was nowhere to run, so he remained still as the beast stopped in front of him. He was so tall that Jiaoqiu had to raise his head to look at him.

“What's wrong, fox?” The borisin chortled. “Are you afraid I might bite you?”

Jiaoqiu forced his voice to remain calm.

"If you wanted to bite, I'm sure you would have done it already." He muttered hoarsely. His hand moved to the water bag, but he didn't take it yet.

The borisin snorted deep in his throat.

A tense silence spread between them, thick enough to choke on. Then the borisin sighed - an exaggerated sound that carried more annoyance than malice - and nudged the water bag closer with his foot.

"Drink before I change my mind and rip your throat out instead." He grunted, and crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, as if daring Jiaoqiu to disagree. But there was no real threat in those words, just boredom interspersed with reluctant duty.

Jiaoqiu hesitated for just a second longer before reaching for it with clumsy fingers and bringing it shakily to his lips. The water tasted as sweet as ambrosia, and he almost whimpered with the relief that flooded through him like a cool river.

The borisin watched impassively until Jiaoqiu's was done drinking. Jiaoqiu forced himself to lift his chin and meet the borisin's gaze, trying to banish the fear from his expression.

"Who are you?" Jiaoqiu managed to croak, his voice still raspy and weak.

The beast’s ears twitched. He leaned forward slightly, the heat of his breath exuding the odour of raw meat.

"Fang. Warhead Hoolay’s teeth when he can't be bothered to bite himself." One claw tapped against a yellowed fang for emphasis before he straightened with a dismissive flick of his tail. "And you're my new chore."

His tone dripped with irritation, but something darker lurked beneath. As if Fang was just waiting for him to slip up just once, just enough to justify tearing into him without breaking Hoolay's orders.

Jiaoqiu swallowed, still tasting blood on his tongue.

"Lucky me."

Fang barked out a laugh that had no real humour behind it.

"Lucky indeed." He repeated, his eyes glinting dangerously as he studied Jiaoqiu's pale face. "At least for now."

Jiaoqiu met his gaze, though fear tightened in his stomach. He dared not look away, dared not show weakness in front of a predator.

"So the Warhead told you to keep me alive?" He couldn't help but ask, curiosity winning out over his instinct for self-preservation.

The borisin replied with a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Something like that." Fang said."He did say I had to keep you breathing, but he didn't mention keeping your limbs attached or your sanity intact." There was a pause, and then another cold burst of laughter. "Why do you ask? Is it that surprising?"

"Surprising? No." Jiaoqiu replayed after a brief consideration. "I'm just clarifying the terms of my stay." The ghost of his usual smirk tugged at one corner of Jiaoqiu’s mouth, faint but still there. "So I would know how much trouble I can cause before you decide it's not worth keeping me in one piece after all."

Fang's eyes narrowed, half-irritated, half-intrigued.

"You ask an awful lot of questions. You're full of them." He remarked. His tail flicked once sharply behind him. "But remember, trouble is only fun if you survive it. Why do you think Warhead wants a slave like you alive?"

Jiaoqiu forced himself not to flinch. A slave. A word he never expected to apply to himself, though he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Survival is its own prize." He managed after a moment, and his lips curled back into a familiar expression, a mask that hid fear and uncertainty beneath its disguise as easily as anything else. "As for the Warhead... maybe he wants me to be useful to him."

Fang snorted again, blowing a warm, flesh-smelling puff of air against Jiaoqiu’s face.

"Useful?" The borisin repeated, lashing his tail once behind him as if to emphasise his disbelief. "You are no warrior. What can a fox like you do except get gutted and bleed all over the place?”

Jiaoqiu's golden eyes flicked up to meet Fang’s.

"I am a healer. I know poisons that can kill an entire warband in a matter of minutes." He said quietly, almost in a conversational tone. "And medicine that can bring them back from the brink of death just as quickly." He paused, as if savouring a private joke between himself and fate, before adding with deliberate lightness. “And my wits can be quite amusing.”

Fang eyed him for a long moment.

"Then try not to bore us too quickly." He finally said. He gave Jiaoqiu another appraising look, and judging by the expression on his face, he wasn’t happy with what he saw. “For now, you need to eat something. You're just skin and bones.”

Jiaoqiu watched as Fang turned towards the tent flap, tail flicking in dismissal.

"Stay here." The borisin growled over his shoulder. "Unless you want to find out how long a half-dead fox can last in the snow."

Then he was gone, leaving Jiaoqiu alone with nothing but silence and furs that smelled like wolves.

Jiaoqiu let his body sag slightly now that Fang’s predatory presence had retreated. His fingers curled into fists, restless even in exhaustion.

"Poisons." He muttered to himself with a humourless chuckle. It wasn't a lie, just an omission. He knew his way around poisons, but he was far more dangerous with antidotes tailored to specific toxins, like those secreted by borisin fangs. And if Hoolay thought him useful enough to keep him alive? That made him valuable enough to have leverage when and if an opportunity finally presented itself.

Outside, laughter broke out again, and Jiaoqiu closed his eyes briefly before shakily reaching for another sip from the water bag lying at his side. He would need more than water if he wanted to survive this game. And more than survival if he wanted to win it.

His fingers clutched the water bag, not hard enough to spill what little was left, but to feel its weight, light and hollow, just like him. But even hollow things could still be wielded if one knew how to throw them hard enough.

Jiaoqiu smirked over the rim and drank the last dregs dry. He put the water bag aside and listened carefully for footsteps behind the tent walls. He assumed, Fang would bring him food, most likely half-raw meat that was still dripping red onto the plate, as borisin had no patience to cook anything properly, let alone prisoner's meals. This suited him just fine, as bloodier cuts were easier to slip into powder without anyone realising until it was far too late.

The coarse fabric of his clothes tugged at his skin as Jiaoqiu moved just enough to make out the small bulge under his sleeve, containing a single vial. A hidden tidbit sewn into his robe that they had yet to find. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, it was colder than the snow outside, sharper than Fang’s claws. 

Patience was, after all, the deadliest virtue of all.

Jiaoqiu leaned against the furs with his eyes closed. He needed to recover and wait. Wolves were always hungriest when they thought they had won.

Footsteps approached outside, heavy and unhurried.

Fang’s nostrils flared as he entered, scanning the tent with the predator’s gaze before settling on Jiaoqiu. With a wet pop, he tossed the meat onto a rough wooden tray beside the brazier.

"Eat." He grunted. "Or I can chew it for you first."

Jiaoqiu opened his eyes languidly.

"How considerate." He murmured before reaching for the meat. His other hand remained pressed tightly to his side. Still, he couldn't help but eye the meal he was offered. His stomach churned, not only from hunger, but also from the unspoken question that stood between them: what kind of flesh was this? He swallowed, and forced his voice to sound calm as he glanced up at Fang.

"You expect me to believe this wasn't taken from my own kin?" He asked, in a voice too quiet for a direct accusation.

Fang's grined.

"What if it was?" He tilted his head. "Would you prefer to starve then?"

Jiaoqiu stared back, unblinking.

"No." He admitted. "Hunger doesn't care whose blood was paid for its feast."

He reached for the meat again, but his hand was shaking too much to lift it properly. There was no choice. He had to eat or die.

The meat on his tongue was tough, too wild to be human or foxian. Maybe venison, maybe something else entirely. He forced it down anyway while Fang watched him with those unsettling eyes.

Jiaoqiu swallowed the last bitter bite and set the plate aside. His fingers lingered near his sleeve before he hid his hands under the furs again.

“Where is the Warhead?” He asked, trying to ignore the way his stomach churned at what he might have just eaten.

"Somewhere out there." Fang replied, wagging his tail lazily behind him. "And you're pretty curious for a slave. Why is that? Do you miss your owner already?"

Jiaoqiu maintained his neutral expression, even though the nausea coiled tighter in his gut. He offered no reply.

The silence lingered until Fang finally turned to the tent flap.

"Rest." The borisin grunted over his shoulder. "The Warhead will find a use for what little strength you have."

He didn't elaborate before slipping back out into the snow.

Jiaoqiu let his fingers brush over the hidden vial once more before covering himself with a hip of furs. He closed his eyes, to rest and survive.

But as exhausted as he was, sleep would not come. Jiaoqiu pressed his face deeper into the furs, as if he could bury himself under their weight and disappear. The cold was relentless, a slow, creeping chill that made its way through and gnawed at his skin. His body burned with fever, but somehow he was still shivering.

The tent swayed around him, or maybe it was his faltering vision, the fever distorting reality into jagged shapes and flickering shadows. The glow of the fire stretched across the walls like liquid gold before collapsing again. Jiaoqiu squeezed his eyes shut, but even then, phantom images danced behind his eyelids.

Was Feixiao alive? The question pressed on his ribs like a vice, tightening with each harsh inhale. If Hoolay had broken out, if borisin had been unleashed on the Luofu, then Feixiao would have fought. She would have stood her ground until her bones shattered. And Moze... His throat constricted as he thought of Moze slipping out of the shadows to meet the borissin fangs head on.

No. He couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now. He gritted his teeth as he forced air into his lungs, a breath, then another, until the world around him calmed a little. The brazier still flickered, outside, the wind howled between the tents like a chorus of wolves calling for blood. And somewhere out there, Hoolay was planning something much worse than slaughtering one foxian healer.

Jiaoqiu pulled the pelt over his head, blocking out everything but the darkness and the warmth that never reached deep enough to thaw him. Then, sleep finally caught up with him.

His dreams came in fragments, torn and feverishly bright.

Jiaoqiu walked through the halls of the Yanzhin. The scent of incense and medicinal herbs hung in the air, as always, but something was wrong - the corridors stretched too far, twisting in on themselves like a snake swallowing its own tail. Shadows gathered where the light from the lanterns should have been, echoing with the scratching of claws over wood.

Wolves.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he skidded around corners, finding only dead ends that blossomed before him like open wounds. Until he stumbled into an alchemy lab, rotting from neglect. He stood among shattered vials, overturned cauldrons and scrolls buried under a layer of dust. And from one corner of the room, a pair of glowing eyes stared at him.

Jiaoqiu's breath caught in his throat. He knew those eyes. But before he could say anything, the dream shattered like glass underfoot as claws clamped down on his shoulder and fangs dug into his throat.

The pain exploded inside him, white-hot and brutal. Jiaoqiu woke with a strangled gasp, his hands flying to his neck where the wound still ached.

He sat up, trying to calm his breathing and focus on his surroundings. It took him a few moments to figure out where he was, and even then the realisation brought little comfort.

The tent was dark, the moonlight creeping through the cracks in the canvas. Jiaoqiu wrapped the furs around him and tried to find some semblance of warmth, but the cold seemed to cling to him, seeping into his bones.

The wolves in his dream had been borisin. But the Yanzhin alchemy halls, that was a freshly torn scar. A place he had not entered since he had sworn off medicine altogether, until Feixiao's desperate need drew him back one last time. He wondered if he would ever see his home again.

Jiaoqiu pressed his palms to his eyes until stars bloomed behind his lids. All he wanted was to go home, to his bed, to his laboratory. He felt tears of hopelessness stinging his eyes, but he wiped them away angrily. Crying wouldn’t help him now.

That was the moment when he felt a change in the air, a barely perceptible one, but enough to make the fine hairs on the back of Jiaoqiu’s neck stand up.

Slowly, with deliberate control over every trembling muscle, he lifted his head.

"Who is it?" His voice sounded weak and faint, even to his own ears.

Silence. It was as if the darkness itself was watching and waiting.

It took another long moment, then a voice came from the shadows, a deep, mocking whisper.

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

Jiaoqiu froze. He recognised that voice.

The sound slid through the darkness like oil over bone, smooth, mocking and hungry. Jiaoqiu’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

Hoolay.

His breath disappeared from his lungs, as if the Warhead had already reached down his throat to steal it. The shadows seemed to thicken, and condense into a massive silhouette looming just beyond the brazier’s glow. The darkness itself had taken shape, only to watch Jiaoqiu unravel.

“A fox that cries in his sleep.” Hoolay mused, tilting his head with predatory curiosity. “Pathetic.” The word dripped with derision, but beneath it lurked something worse, a blood-red streak of disappointment, as if he had expected more from a creature born of Xianzhou cunning.

Hoolay moved, and his shadow vanished the brazier’s glow like an eclipse devours the moon. His form towered above Jiaoqiu, a menacing shadow that blotted out all light. Emerald-green eyes stared at Jiaoqiu without blinking, shining with their own light. His fur was thick and lush, white as snow, as if he had hunted the winter itself and worn its pelt around his shoulders like a trophy. His jaws, set with razor-sharp teeth, splayed slightly as he scrutinised Jiaoqiu.

Jiaoqiu stayed still. Hoolay wasn't just looking at him, he was looking through him, as if his gaze could count the frenzied beats of Jiaoqiu's heart.

The Warhead took one step forward. Every muscle in Jiaoqiu’s body tensed, instincts screaming at him to run, even though logic whispered there was no way out. Hoolay was not just a borisin. He was the apex predator, and he wore his brutality like a second skin.

Jiaoqiu could smell him now, the ferrous stench beneath the musk and frost. Hoolay's claws flexed idly on one thigh as he took another step closer, each movement graceful despite his size - too large for this tent or any space not meant to contain monsters.

“Tell me.” Hoolay growled softly. “What does a fox dream of when he thinks death is coming for him?”

“Death would be a mercy.” Jiaoqiu's fingers tightened around the edge of his furs. If this was the last act of resistance he could offer, he would make it count. “No foxian fears death when life has nothing left to offer.”

A few heartbeats rushed by before Hoolay replied.

"You are a fool." Hoolay's voice echoed through the tent, cold and emotionless. "Life doesn't bend to wishes or whims. It is a wild beast, a wolf that devours those too weak to fight back." His eyes gleamed like twin funeral pyres above a jaw that could snap Jiaoqiu’s spine like a twig.

Jiaoqiu forced down the fear crawling up his throat.

"Then why did you let me live?" He rasped. “What could a meager healer possibly have that you want?"

Hoolay's gaze burned into him, amused and merciless.

"You think I need a reason?" The Warhead flexed his claws against the wooden floor, the sound like daggers unsheathing in the darkness. "Perhaps it's because you're my property, the first fox in centuries that I've guided home, back to the borisin slave barracks where your kin belong." He took another step closer, and Jiaoqiu could feel the heat emanating from him now, not warmth, but the suffocating pressure of a predator’s presence.

"Or perhaps." Hoolay mused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's because you tried to take my life. That alone doesn't make you as useless as you seem to be."

Jiaoqiu fell silent at the memory of his own folly, the futility of trying to harm a creature that had survived for centuries without sustenance. Hoolay was right: a foxian was no match for a borisin. But what foxians lacked in strength, they made up for in cunning.

“I tried to take your life.” Jiaoqiu repeated. "Because you left me no other choice."

"And yet, you failed." Hoolay’s words were soft, a whisper on a knife's edge. "A mistake few live to regret." There was no malice in his tone, just a cold indifference that was worse than any anger or threat could have been.

"Then kill me." The words spilled out before Jiaoqiu could stop them, raw and reckless. "Or is mercy beneath the great Warhead?"

Hoolay's claws twitched, but he did not strike. Instead, his snout twisted into something like amusement.

"You'll find no mercy here. But you will fulfil your purpose, whether you like it or not."

He leaned forward, towering over Jiaoqiu.

"You are not a warrior, but there are other ways to be of use to me. You have a sharp mind, don't you, fox? Maybe you can give me some insight."

Jiaoqiu understood what Hoolay was getting at.

"You want me to be an informant." He said, his voice flat.

Hoolay's chuckle scratched Jiaoqiu’s ears as he pulled back slightly.

"Indeed." He muttered. "You have something few of my slaves here do: knowledge of the Xianzhou Alliance. Their weaknesses, their strengths. Their plans." He paused, letting the implication sink in. 

Jiaoqiu's mind raced. He was a healer, not a spy. The thought of betraying the Alliance, of being a traitor, was sickening. But he knew he couldn't refuse, with Hoolay hovering over him.

"I understand." He said. "But I've already told you everything I know. There are no more secrets to share. You know that, Warhead."

Hoolay's lips twisted into a grin, a slow and terrible thing. His fangs glistened like splinters of bone in the dim light.

"Such a sly fox." He muttered. "And yet you lie so badly."

A clawed hand closed around Jiaoqiu's shoulder, not yet breaking the skin, but firm enough to make the bones grind under his grip.

"You think I don't know what a counsellor hears?" He whispered softly. "That mutt you called your general trusted you too much for you to be this useless." He applied more pressure, just shy of snapping delicate foxian bones, before continuing. "So you're going to tell me everything. Or do I have to remind you how fragile you really are?"

Jiaoqiu’s pulse throbbed in his ears.

"She told me nothing of military strategy." He forced himself to speak through clenched teeth. "General Feixiao never shared those things with me." His breath was going too fast now, panic tingling in his ribs, but then a hint of defiance flared as he met Hoolay’s gaze head-on. "But if you want secrets so badly ... maybe I can invent some for you."

Hoolay went perfectly still. And then he laughed, the sound like boulders crunching on each other.

"Oh." He breathed, loosening his grip to run a single claw along Jiaoqiu's neck. "There it is. This is what I’ve been waiting for. The cornered fox finally showing his fangs."

He leaned back slightly, studying Jiaoqiu.

"Fine. Lie to me again, little healer, and we'll see how creative you can be when every bone in your body would be broken."

Jiaoqiu shuddered, not at the threat, but at the realisation. Hoolay wasn’t just testing his loyalty. He was enjoying this.

Jiaoqiu shuddered, not at the threat, but at the realisation. Hoolay wasn’t just testing his loyalty. He was enjoying this.

"I have no doubt you would find that entertaining." He murmured, voice carefully empty, even as his body quivered under Hoolay's lingering touch. "But broken bones make poor storytellers."

It was a gamble. A red herring wrapped in half-truths, because he had nothing but words and wit now.

Hoolay’s gaze burned into him, the amusement in his eyes sharpening like a blade.

"You're right." He said. "But you forgot something. I don't need you whole to get what I want from you." His claw traced a slow line down and up Jiaoqiu's throat, stopping just below his chin. "Just alive enough to scream."

Then, he let go of Jiaoqiu’s shoulder so abruptly that the foxian tumbled back onto the furs with a startled gasp.

"Give me something useful.” Hoolay growled. “Or I might change my mind about how enjoyable I find our game here."

Jiaoqiu took a deep breath. He needed to think.

"The Xianzhou Luofu has established a new garrison near the northern docks." He said quietly, his voice measured. It was a lie, but it could buy him time. "Their defences are still weak there."

He stilled himself despite the tremor, knowing full well what would happen if this "truth" proved hollow. But for now, survival meant playing along.

Hoolay watched him, his monstrous face giving nothing away, until a dark, knowing chuckle broke the silence.

"Is that so?" He mused, tilting his head. "But you should know that I already have eyes in the docks." His claws flexed absently at his side as he added. "Try one more time. And this time, I want it to be worth my patience."

"The Alchemy Commission." Jiaoqiu bit out, dragging the words through his teeth like if they were shards of glass. "The Alchemy Commission has begun hoarding elixirs against the borisin toxin. They keep them in the Western Vaults, behind a seal that only senior medics can breach."

It wasn’t entirely false, just outdated information from some time ago. Enough truth to sound convincing if Hoolay hadn’t already infiltrated those ranks.

Hoolay's gaze never wavered, the amusement in his eyes flickering like a candle flame dancing against the darkness. 

"I see." He said, and finally stepped forward again, a tower of flesh and fur rising above Jiaoqiu. "Then I have one more question for you, fox."

Jiaoqiu did not move, his eyes fixed on the Warhead's face. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to, not after those claws were so close to his throat. 

"How well can you heal from fire?"

Hoolay’s claw tapped idly against Jiaoqiu's pulse, as if counting each erratic beat, before he continued.

"Because if you keep lying to me like that, we will find out."

Jiaoqiu remained silent. So Hollay knew. He had already tested the lie and torn it apart before Jiaoqiu had even spoken it.

"Then why are you even asking?" Jiaoqiu's voice was steady and resigned. "If you already have your answers, what need do you have for me?"

The truth was like a blade poised above Jiaoqiu’s heart. Hoolay didn’t need him alive. Not really. So why keep playing this game?

Hoolay’s lupine lips curled into a mixture of a snarl and a grin.

"Because watching you try is more entertaining than ripping another nameless mutt apart. And because I wonder…" Hoolay added, his voice a whisper. "How far a fox like you would go to survive."

He straightened, looking down with his terrible glowing eyes.

"Get on your knees."

For a moment, Jiaoqiu didn’t move. He simply couldn’t. Pride and survival battled against each other in his chest until his body moved without thinking and his fingers dug into the blankets as he got on his knees in front of Hoolay. His head bowed slightly out of instinct, not in submission but self-preservation, hiding the way his teeth clenched behind loose strands of his pale hair.

"You're learning." Hoolay remarked above him, before grabbing a handful of that hair and wrenching Jiaoqiu's head back. ”Now tell me something true. Why did you really try to kill me, healer?"

Jiaoqiu’s vision swam, but his voice was startlingly clear.

"Because you are a monster." He spat out. "And monsters deserve to die."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Finally." Hoolay murmured. "Some honesty. And such bold words from a creature so weak and feeble." His eyes shone brighter than the embers in the brazier. "And I don't like weak things."

Before Jiaoqiu could respond, Hoolay's free hand snapped forward, not to strike, but to grab him by the throat, so that every breath was a struggle as he was pulled upright until their faces were level.

"Let me tell you something."

Hoolay’s voice softened - a whisper meant only for Jiaoqiu as his claws flexed against the delicate skin. "You think you know pain? You think death is the worst thing I can do?" His other hand travelled along Jiaoqiu's ribcage before stopping just above his stomach, the claws pressing in with agonising slowness. " Tell me, do you know why tents like this are called nests by the borisin?”

Jiaoqiu could only stare at the Warhead, unable to speak past the iron grip squeezing his windpipe. His pulse pounded in his temples while his lungs burned, struggling to breathe against the constricting pressure.

"Because." Hoolay spoke, loosening his grip just enough to let Jiaoqiu suck in a ragged gasp. "This is where we breed warriors for the next generation."

"Hoolay." Jiaoqiu breathed as he struggled to form the words. "Why are you telling me this?” 

His words were barely audible, but there was no mistaking the desperation that ran through them. He knew where this was going. And he wanted it to stop or end quickly.

"Because I want you to know." The borisin said. "The foxian slaves in this camp can use a new bloodline. I can use you to breed them. To create more fodder meat for my army."

Jiaoqiu felt bile rise in his throat at those words, but he swallowed it down, along with his pride.

"No." He whispered. "I won't... I can’t…"

He struggled against Hoolay's hold, desperation lending strength to his limbs, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His nails dug into Hoolay’s arm, as he tried to break free.

Hoolay merely watched him squiem as panic burned through Jiaoqiu like wildfire.

"Pathetic." He growled. "You're begging for death when you don't even know what true suffering is."

He released Jiaoqiu and the foxian slumped onto its furs, panting.

"Eyes on me, fox.” The borisin murmured somewhere above his head. “Always keep your eyes on me."

Jiaoqiu coughed, his lungs burning as he fought to regain control of his breathing. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Hoolay’s.

The Warhead stood over him, motionless as a statue, except for the rise and fall of his chest.

"Tomorrow you will visit the infirmary. There are a few soldiers that need a healer. Now go to sleep." He ordered after a moment of silence. Then he simply turned away and disappeared into the shadows without another word,

Jiaoqiu stood kneeling for a long time, his muscles rigid. He sank back onto the furs, exhaustion overtaking him so suddenly that he could hardly think straight. The tent seemed to squeeze around him, claustrophobic and suffocating, but sleep came at last and the darkness mercifully swallowed him whole.

 

Chapter 2

Jiaoqiu’s eyes flickered open. The brazier had long since burned down to embers, casting a faint red glow over scattered furs and worn blankets.

He rolled onto his back, wincing as bruises announced themselves with sharp stabs of pain. His body ached from head to toe from the previous day's ordeal.

How long had he slept? And where...

The memory of Hoolay's visit rushed back. He sat up abruptly, only for his vision to swim dangerously before settling again. Before he could dwell on it further, the tent flap rustled and Fang ducked inside.

“Still alive, I see?” He mused as he examined the foxian.  Fang's muzzle twitched into something resembling amusement when he noticed how stiffly the foxian held himself. "The Warhead has given you a task at the infirmary, I have heard."

"And you're here to escort me?" Jiaoqiu asked quietly, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Fang’s tail flicked behind him as he leaned against one of the tent poles with deceptive casualness.

"Observant little thing, are you not?" His lupine lips peeled back just enough to flash teeth. "Get up. We move now."

Jiaoqiu rose slowly, his muscles protesting with each movement as he forced his body upright.

"Fine." He said. "Let me get ready."

He could not bring himself to add “please.” Even in this desolate place, surrounded by enemies, there were limits to how far he would bend. Jiaoqiu looked at the tent flap, a question in his eyes. It was cold outside, and he was still wearing his old, torn, bloody clothes.

Fang made a low sound in the back of his throat before tossing something onto the furs beside him. It was a bundle of worn but serviceable clothing, thick wool trousers and a coat dyed the dull brown favored by borisin hunters.

"Put those on." He ordered, already turning towards the exit as if expecting immediate obedience.

The words were clipped, impatient, but Jiaoqiu didn't miss how Fang lingered near the tent flap instead of urging him further. A small mercy, at least - some privacy to change without a predator leering at him.

Jiaoqiu's fingers trembled slightly as he unfastened the vial from his robes. The glass glinted like ice in the dim light, its contents swirling with all the secrets it held as he tucked the vial beneath his undershirt before pulling on the new clothes.

The worn fabric felt rough against his sensitive skin, but it was warm and dry. Jiaoqiu moved quickly despite the pain as he turned to face Fang. The borisin’s gray eyes gleamed, observing him with an unsettling intensity.

"I'm ready.” Jiaoqiu said. His throat still ached from where Hoolay had choked him, a reminder of just how easily Fang could do the same.

Fang snorted before gesturing towards the exit with a flick of his claws.

"Let's go."

He stepped out without waiting for a response, leaving the tent flap open behind him like a trap. Jiaoqiu took a deep breath before following.

Stepping outside was like walking into the jaws of winter itself.

Snow crunched beneath Jiaoqiu’s boots as he followed the borisin, his breath frosting in ragged puffs before him. The war camp sprawled across the frozen wasteland like a scar, with dozens of heavy canvas tents stitched with intricate embroidery depicting battles and beasts, their patterns darkened by soot and dirt. The banners snapping atop each one bore the pack’s sigil: a wolf’s skull split by three claw marks, dyed in red hues.

Beyond the tents stretched nothing but endless white, where the wind howled between jagged ice formations. Even the sunlight here felt thin, leaching warmth instead of granting it.

Jiaoqiu shivered despite his borrowed layers. As his gaze swept over the camp, unease prickled down his spine. The realization settled over him – this wasn’t an army preparing for conquest, but a pack in flight.

There were no war machines, no towering mechabeasts, no looming starships docked beyond the snowline, just patched tents and scavenged supplies. Even the weapons he spotted were crude compared to Xianzhou craftsmanship, all he saw were blades reforged from wreckage, armor pieced together from scraps.

The borisin moved with a tension that had nothing to do with conquest, their ears flicking towards distant sounds far too often. Just like survivors fleeing something even beasts as brutal as borisin feared.

A low growl brought him back to the present. Fang turned his head, gray eyes boring into him.

"Keep moving." Fang snapped. "You’re here to patch wounds, not gawk."

Jiaoqiu obeyed, but his mind kept spinning even as his feet carried him forward. If the borisin were running, then from what? For now, though, there was only the infirmary ahead, and whatever answers he might find inside.
The medical tent’s walls were darker than the others, stained with old blood and smoke, the embroidered patterns fraying like burnt flesh. A rusted iron brazier smouldered at the entrance, its flames guttering weakly against the biting wind.

The stench greeted Jiaoqiu first, as stale sweat mixed with the coppery smell of blood. Inside, wounded borisin lay strewn across stained pelts, some wrapped in crude bandages, others twitching from fever dreams. There were no orderly rows here, just suffering piled upon suffering until even the air felt unclean.

Fang shoved him forward.

“Earn your keep.”

Jiaoqiu’s face was expressionless as he moved through the chaos. Each step felt traitorous, every labored breath a reminder that he was surrounded by beasts, and their wounds, though terrible, were nothing compared to what awaited him if he misstepped.

“What happened here?” He asked, unable to look away from a soldier whose fur had been burned away in patches, black char marking the edges of the wounds. Borisin were tenacious creatures, their bodies healing naturally with their hign regeneration rate. But this was different. With a closer look, Jiaoqiu realized he had seen those wounds before.

He knew then - these warriors were survivors of something far older and more insidious than a simple conflict. They bore the marks of a threat that had once laid claim to galaxies.

“War happened.” Fang muttered darkly. “And war will continue.”

“Then why bring me here?” Jiaoqiu asked, keeping his gaze fixed on a nearby borisin whose chest fluttered as he struggled to breathe with an open hole in it. “You have healers among your own kind.”

Fang shrugged.

“Not anymore.” He said. And then he was gone, leaving Jiaoqiu alone amidst the wounded.

Jiaoqiu took a deep breath before forcing himself to approach the burnt borisin. His mind kept pondering as his hands began to work.

Propagation wounds. They were deep, gnawing gashes that refused to close cleanly. He had seen them before in texts from the Xianzhou archives, wounds left by creatures born of an Aeon long dead, while his legacy still festered.

Jiaoqiu didn't flinch as he unwound the sodden bandages. This was what it meant to be a healer, to mend even the most broken, regardless of whose blood stained their hands.

Still, every touch felt like betrayal. These were the same claws that had ripped through Xianzhou warriors, the same jaws that had torn foxian children from their mothers’ arms.

But here he was, healing them so they could rise and slaughter more of his kind tomorrow. The irony tasted foul on his tongue. Jiaoqiu clenched his teeth, fighting back the bitterness boiling in his chest.

The borisin might see him as weak, a docile fox to be tamed by fangs and claws. But he knew the truth: there was strength in healing, too. It just didn't draw blood as readily.

And perhaps that was its own kind of power.

Hours passed as Jiaoqiu’s fingers grew numb from cleaning wounds. The borisin were warriors, tough and resolute even in pain. They bore each treatment with grim acceptance and occasional stares that sent stabs of unease through Jiaoqiu’s gut.

One of those stares was especially unsettling. It came from a young soldier, a borisin barely into adulthood with silver fur. His wound was the worst Jiaoqiu had seen yet. As the foxian healer worked, he could feel those eyes on him, sharp and assessing.

“You’re good at this.” The borisin whispered, his voice strained.

Jiaoqiu met the soldier’s gaze.

“I have had practice.” He said, focusing on his task. He refused to give the borisin the satisfaction of sensing his fear.

The soldier huffed out a laugh.

“Practice on how to heal my kind?”

“On how to help those in need." Jiaoqiu replied, each word deliberate.

“Not many foxes learn how to heal borisin.” The warrior went on. “But you… you know us well. Too well, almost. I wonder why that is.”

Jiaoqiu tensed at those last words, but he kept calm.

“Is that a question?”

“No.” The borisin muttered. “Just an observation.” His hand shot out suddenly, grasping Jiaoqiu’s wrist in a crushing grip before the healer could react. “I think we both know what you are.”

Jiaoqiu’s heart stuttered in his chest, betraying the fear he had felt since the moment he had walked among these monsters.

“And what is that?” He asked, keeping his voice steady despite the trembling of his fingers. His pulse felt fast enough that he was sure the borisin could feel it too.

The soldier bared his fangs in a lazy grin, his grip tightening until pain lanced up Jiaoqiu’s arm.

“A traitor and a liar.” He growled. “Someone who will bite the hand that feeds him, given a chance.”

Jiaoqiu stiffened as he pondered a way out of this. But there were no allies here, only enemies watching from every corner of the infirmary.

“You are a loyal slave, are you not?” The borisin asked, drawing him closer by the wrist where he held Jiaoqiu captive. His tone was soft, almost gentle, but there was a feral glint in his eyes.

“Yes.” Jiaoqiu lied smoothly. “I am.”

The borisin’s grin widened, revealing fangs stained crimson with his own blood.

“Good for you.” He muttered, releasing the healer’s arm. “Because I want you to prove it.”

“Prove it how?” Jiaoqiu asked cautiously, rubbing his wrist. He could see the borisin shifting restlessly on their cots. They could barely move, not in their condition, but the threat was clear. The beasts looked hungry, all of them. And it did not take a foxian’s intuition to know what they wanted.

The young soldier took a hot ember from the brazier beside his cot.

Jiaoqiu's golden eyes widened as the ember glowed before his face. 
“What do you want me to do?” He asked, his voice quavering despite his best efforts.

“To prove that your loyalty is real.” The borisin replied, rolling the ember between his claws. Its light cast a sickly glow over his features, transforming the young soldier into something monstrous. “To prove that you don't just say you will obey, but actually do it.”

“Open your mouth.” The borisin growled, his words a whisper of madness and malice as he raised the hot ember toward Jiaoqiu's lips.

Jiaoqiu’s tongue was dry, his throat too tight to speak. His eyes darted from the ember to the borisin's face, searching for any hint of mercy, but there was none to be found.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. Then he obeyed, his lips parting.

The borisin's grin was a rictus of triumph, twisted and terrible. He leaned forward, the ember moving closer until Jiaoqiu could feel the heat searing his face.

“Now.” The borisin murmured. “Bite it.”

Jiaoqiu was silent for one lingering moment.

“What?” He said finally, as if he had misheard. His body shook with barely suppressed rage - at himself, at these monsters, at everything that had led him here.

The borisin’s eyes went cold, all amusement gone.

“I said bite it.” He snapped. “Or are you too weak to survive among us?”

Jiaoqiu stared at the ember, his lungs burning with every breath. This was madness, a suicide by fire. But to refuse was death anyway.

“As you wish.” Jiaoqiu whispered.

Then, in one motion, he yanked the ember out of the soldier's claws, clutching it in his hand and snuffing it out.

Flesh sizzled. Smoke curled up between his fingers as Jiaoqiu's jaw locked tight against a scream. The pain was a living thing with white-hot claws digging deep into muscle and bone.

Silence filled the tent before Fang erupted in laughter from the entrance. It seemed he had returned a while back and was watching the show.

“See?” Fang rasped, as Jiaoqiu trembled, his vision swimming from pain while the ember cooled to ash in his ruined palm. “This fox is a fast learner."

The soldier who had issued the challenge looked almost bored.

“Hmph. Maybe he's not completely worthless after all.” He turned away dismissively, already losing interest now that the test was passed.

Jiaoqiu barely registered their words through the haze of agony, but one thought burned clearer than the wound. He had survived. And survival meant there was still a chance to escape, to fight back, or better yet, to win.

Jiaoqiu forced his trembling hand to open, his fingers curled stubbornly around the blackening flesh. His entire body shook like a leaf caught in a storm.

“I'm done here.” He said softly. He stumbled towards the table to fetch a bandage to cover his own burnt hand.

Fang didn’t stop him. The game had been played, and Jiaoqiu had passed, though the cost of it still burned in his flesh like a brand.

The wounded borisin around them watched with varying degrees of interest, some amused, others indifferent. None cared about the foxian’s pain beyond its entertainment value.

But as Jiaoqiu wrapped his ruined hand in rough bandages, he made a silent vow: this would not be forgotten.

“Then I believe we've finished here.” Fang said with a cruel chuckle. “For today.”

As Jiaoqiu stumbled out into the open air, the wind felt like a physical relief after the stifling atmosphere inside the tent. It was sharp and clear, a reminder that the world outside these canvas walls still existed.

Jiaoqiu followed close behind Fang, cradling his injured hand.

His eyes scanned the camp as he moved through the winding paths between tents. Everywhere around him lay signs of struggle - bloodstained snow, makeshift tents, and raggedly dressed warriors.

But what caught his eye most were the slaves, other foxians like himself, forced to work alongside their borisin captors.

The slaves kept their heads down as they went about their work under the watchful eyes of their masters. But as the foxians glanced at his side, Jiaoqiu could see something flash in their gazes, a spark buried deep within them, something he couldn’t quite discern.
Curiosity, perhaps? Disbelief? Or something entirely different, akin to anger. 

He frowned. It made no sense. Why would they look at him like that? They shouldn't hate him, he was just like any other captive. Yet they stared at him with hostility. 

"Something wrong, fox?" Fang asked, his voice cutting through Jiaoqiu's thoughts. 

"No." Jiaoqiu said quietly. "Everything is fine." 

"Good." Fang's grin lacked any warmth. "Don't even think about causing trouble. You belong to Hoolay now, and once a wolf bites his prey..." He trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken. 

"I'm not going to do anything." Jiaoqiu said flatly, his lips pressed into a thin line. But inside, he was already planning, searching for some sliver of hope, any way to find a crack in the walls of his prison. 

The only question left was what a healer could offer as a weapon against a predator like Hoolay. 

"I need more bandages and supplies for my work." Jiaoqiu said bluntly as he kept pace with the borisin’s long strides. His words were clear and steady, though pain pounded in his hand like the beat of a war drum. 

His request hung in the air for a moment. Finally, when it seemed the silence might stretch forever, Fang chuckled. 

"You do?" There was no denying the amusement in his voice. "Very well." 

Jiaoqiu felt a flicker of surprise. He had not expected the borisin to grant his request without any catch. Still, he kept his expression neutral, feigning indifference. 

Bandages. Supplies. And a chance to slip past the borisin’s watchful eyes and talk to the other foxians. 

"I would like to do more." he added. "If I'm allowed, I would like to tend to the slaves, since for now I've treated the soldiers in the infirmary." 

Fang paused, eyes narrowing as he considered the foxian’s words. 

"And why would you want to do that? Give me one good reason." 

"The pack needs its slaves to be healthy and productive," Jiaoqiu said, choosing his words carefully. "And, as you said, I need to earn my stay. It’s a fair exchange." 

Fang looked at him with a mixture of amusement and contempt before he nodded. 

"Fine. Just don't get any ideas about helping them get ideas." 

A weight lifted from Jiaoqiu's chest at Fang’s response. 

"I wouldn't dream of it." 

It was a victory worth savoring. So he did, letting the flicker of hope swell inside his chest like the rising sun. 

*** 

Soon he was back in his tent. The moment the flap closed behind him, Jiaoqiu exhaled shakily, letting his shoulders slump in exhaustion. He sank onto the furs, running a trembling hand through his hair. It felt as if he'd been holding his breath for hours, and now that the moment had passed, the terror and adrenaline left him battered and exhausted. 

There was also a plate with raw meat waiting for him in the tent. The borisin's voice whispered in his mind like a shadow. 

You belong to Hoolay now. And once a wolf bites its prey… 

"I won’t break." Jiaoqiu murmured softly, speaking to no one but himself as he cradled his bandaged hand. The pain was sharp, but it was a welcome distraction. It kept him focused, helped him remember his purpose. 

Then he reached for the meat and started eating. 

The crude food felt heavy in his stomach as Jiaoqiu chewed mechanically. He finished his meal, wrapping the leftovers for later. Then, with a determined sigh, he turned his attention back to his burned hand. 

His fingers trembled slightly as he carefully removed the bandages. The wound beneath was raw and angry, blistered skin peeling away from the deeper burns where flesh had sizzled against ember. He hissed through clenched teeth at the pain, but forced himself to examine it critically. 

Infection would be disastrous here, far from proper medicine or sanitation. 

Using the water from the waterbag left with the meat, he rinsed away dried blood and ash before rewrapping it. Each movement was precise, masking any sign of weakness even when no one watched him now. 

And so Jiaoqiu worked in silence, his face a mask of stone to hide the turmoil within. He was a prisoner, an outsider trapped in a world of predators, but even in captivity there were battles to be fought and victories to be won. The borisin had only seen what they wanted to see, the surface of a lake that hid its true depths. 

Because beneath the calm waters, Jiaoqiu was far from harmless. 

He curled up on his bed of furs and blankets. His hand throbbed relentlessly, matching the rhythm of his pulse. 

Sleep came in fits and starts, his dreams a fractured collage of fire and embers burning through flesh. 

Once, he jolted awake with a muffled gasp, certain for one dizzying moment that the borisin were dragging him from his bed. But it was only the wind outside shaking the tent flaps like grasping hands. 

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into his uninjured palm as sweat cooled on his skin. The pain had dulled to a deep ache, an echo of what had happened hours before.

The next time he looked up, he wasn't alone. A silhouette towered above him in the darkness, broad shoulders casting sharp shadows against the tent’s pale canvas. The figure’s eyes glowed brightly in the dark, burning with ravenous hunger.

Jiaoqiu remained still, simply staring at him.

“Did you come to torment me again?” He asked softly.

Hoolay let out a thoughtful growl. His presence filled the cramped space like smoke, heavy and suffocating.

“I have done nothing to torment you yet, fox.” His voice rised from somewhere low in his chest. “But I came to check on your progress.”

He crouched suddenly, in a movement too swift and fluid for something so large.

“Tell me, what have you learned today?”

Jiaoqiu took a moment to consider his answer. He couldn’t lie. Hoolay would sense the deception in his pulse, in the sweat gathering at his temples.

“I learned that pain itself can be a lesson.”

Hoolay’s lips peeled back from sharp teeth in an expression between approval and threat. All Jiaoqiu could see were those burning eyes.

“Pain is a good teacher. It shows you where you're weak. Did someone hurt you today, fox?”

“Yes.” Jiaoqiu answered quietly.

Feral satisfaction gleamed in those predatory eyes.

“Who was it?” The words dripped from Hoolay’s tongue like honeyed venom.

“A borisin... a soldier in the infirmary.” Jiaoqiu said, keeping his eyes fixed on Hoolay. He knew enough about these beasts to be afraid, but he also knew they could be reasoned with, tamed with the right words and actions.

“Why?” Hoolay demanded. In the dark, the borisin looked every inch the monster of legends, a Warhead Brood Lord. A true apex predator.

“He wanted me to prove my loyalty.” Jiaoqiu spoke slowly. “To prove that I belonged to you.”

Hoolay was silent for a moment, studying Jiaoqiu with those sharp, unblinking gaze.

“And how did you prove it?”

“He held a hot coal next to my mouth.” Jiaoqiu had to force the words out. He fought back a shiver, his body’s natural response to the presence of something so dangerous. “He told me to burn myself with it to demonstrate my loyalty.”

“And did you pass the test?”

“I did what I had to do.” Jiaoqiu replied steadily. “I passed.”

“Did you, fox?” Hoolay growled, his face close enough that Jiaoqiu could smell the blood on his breath. The borisin’s gaze raked over him as if searching for a place to sink his teeth in. “You let a borisin hurt you. That is weakness. And weakness can't be tolerated.”

Jiaoqiu’s breath caught in his throat. He had to tread carefully.

“It can't." He agreed softly. “But strength comes in many forms, and so does loyalty.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Then Hoolay chuckled.

“So was it loyalty that made you burn yourself?” Hoolay said finally. “Or was it fear that made you let my soldier threaten you like that?”

Jiaoqiu’s eyes narrowed at Hoolay’s words. The beast was testing him again, trying to provoke a reaction.

“I wasn’t afraid of pain.” He replied coldly. The words rolled off his tongue in a practiced tone, honed by years of being a council. “I knew what he wanted and I gave it to him. I had no other choice.”

Hoolay hummed. The beast leaned in closer, his pupils narrowed into thin slits despite the surrounding darkness. “So is that your loyalty, burning yourself for me? You yielded to pain and threats. That's not loyalty, that's cowardice. And cowards don’t deserve to be spared.”

Hoolay’s words hit like a slap, leaving Jiaoqiu momentarily speechless.

“Then what is loyalty?” He finally asked.

“Loyalty is strength. Loyalty doesn't bow to fear.” Hoolay’s growl vibrated through Jiaoqiu’s bones. “Loyalty submits willingly, because it recognizes power.” His claws scraped against the wooden floor. “Tell me, how loyal were you back in the infirmary? How loyal were you to the Alliance, to your mutt General, to your kin? Because from what I saw, you knelt for a borisin.”

The shame inside Jiaoqiu burned worse than any flame. Because Hoolay was right.

“You failed the test today.” Hoolay murmured with chilling softness. “If you were truly loyal to anyone, you would have burned that soldier instead of yourself.”

Jiaoqiu’s eyes widened.

“What? I...” The words died in his throat before being born. The foxian’s lips moved wordlessly, but no sound came out.

Hoolay smiled coldly, watching Jiaoqiu’s reaction.

“You heard me. Loyalty demands action, not suffering. Is this why you tried to poison us both? All you needed was an excuse for an easy way out.”

Jiaoqiu stiffened at that.

“That's not true.” He whispered hoarsely, his voice almost lost in the sound of the tent canvas flapping against the wind. “I didn't..."

Hoolay’s laughter echoed through the small space, cruel and merciless.

“I can hear your heartbeat, fox. And I can smell it all, the fear in you, the doubt.”

He leaned closer, like a spectre of death.

"That is your weakness and your betrayal," Hoolay whispered. "It is time for you to learn what loyalty really means."

Jiaoqiu swallowed hard.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You know exactly what I want. Do you have the courage to follow through? To burn for me?" As Hoolay spoke, Jiaoqiu knew it wasn't really a question. It was a demand, an order that could not be ignored without severe consequences. "Or are you just another coward?"

Jiaoqiu licked his lips. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind, but none offered any comfort. He had to choose.

"I will." He whispered at last. A rush of fear and regret flooded through him, but it was too late to turn back now. "I will do what you ask."

"Then you will burn." Hoolay's massive hand moved to Jiaoqiu’s jaw. His claw brushed over the delicate flesh of Jiaoqiu’s cheek, the touch felt cold and alien against Jiaoqiu’s heated flesh.

"Your kind can’t heal as well as we do." Hoolay murmured. "You're too weak, too fragile. You break so easily." His breath ghosted over Jiaoqiu’s shoulder as his muzzle brushed against Jiaoqiu’s throat.

"But you can learn." Hoolay continued. The borisin’s claws wrapped around Jiaoqiu’s wrist, his grip painless yet firm. "I will mold you into a possession worth having."

Jiaoqiu’s breath stuttered as a faint, sickly-sweet smell entered his senses. Lupotoxin. He was immune to it to an extent, as a healer and an alchemist, he had developed resistance to most poisons. But not this amount, and not this close. The air in the tent suddenly seemed thick, heavy, each breath carrying a faint tang of metal, a hint of something dark and dangerous. He tried to pull away, but Hoolay’s grip tightened.

"There is no escape." Hoolay said quietly. His voice was as calm and steady as the ground beneath Jiaoqiu’s feet, betraying none of whatever thoughts he might have had. "You must accept that. The only way out is through."

Jiaoqiu’s body trembled as he tried to resist the toxin seeping into his skin, into his blood. His pulse quickened, and a flush of heat spread across his cheeks, unnatural and unwanted. The air tasted like rust on his tongue.

"No." He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus through the haze creeping in at the edges of his mind. "I can't accept it."

But the next moment, a wave of dizziness swept over Jiaoqiu. Then he felt something else, both familiar and foreign – a burning sensation that began at the base of his neck where Hoolay had bitten him and spread slowly throughout his body, a white-hot flame that seemed to burn through his veins.

"Give in." A distant voice commanded in a sibilant hiss. "Surrender."

Jiaoqiu was floating. It was a strange feeling, one that should have been comforting, yet left him feeling hollow and empty instead. He blinked slowly, his eyelids growing heavier by the moment.

"This is why you were left alive." The words in his head were a lullaby, promising dreams he did not wish to dream, coming from all directions at once and coaxing him into nothingness. "Because you belong to me."

Jiaoqiu blinked slowly, struggling to collect his thoughts. What was he trying to do? To resist what? It felt important... But what?

"Yield to me." Hoolay growled into his ear, loud and clear. "Let me in."

Jiaoqiu’s lips parted in a soft gasp, his body succumbing to the borisin’s presence until his mind plunged into darkness.

Jiaoqiu dreamt of running through snow-covered plains and icy mountains watched over by a red moon in the sky. His breath steamed in the air, a pale mist drifting slowly towards the frozen heavens above. He could feel the chill sinking deep into his skin, burning his lungs, but it didn’t matter.

Not now, with the bloody moon overhead. It was a beacon, a bright, burning light singing to him about things he couldn't fathom yet. And in the distance, the sound of a distant howling called.

And then he howled back.

He ran faster now, his clawed paws a blur against the ice.

Jiaoqiu’s throat was raw from howling, but he didn’t stop. The moon was close now, closer than he had ever seen it before. The glowing red disk promised him something, Jiaoqiu did not know what. But he ran regardless, his chest burning as he ran and ran.