The storm had gone still, its Riders circling in silence, the hounds pacing but leashed. Jack didn't question why. He already knew.
The words appeared before his eyes, and he read them the way one recognizes their own reflection.
[Gift: The Eternal Hunt]
The Wild Hunt is yours. The Riders, the hounds, the storm and the horn answer to you. Once prey is marked, the Hunt continues until one side falls. The longer the pursuit, the greater its strength.
Jack's thoughts didn't linger. Of course the Hunt was his to his new instincts as part of him, as his muscle and bone.
[Gift: Dominion of the Hunt]
You hold authority over the concept of hunting. Predator and prey, pursuit and escape — all fall under your dominion. You may strengthen, alter, or deny the Hunt itself.
The knowledge slotted into place. Every hunt bent toward him.Every chase in the world — the hawk diving, the wolf stalking, the man raising his bow — resonated with him now. He was master not only of the Wild Hunt, but of all hunts.
[Gift: Mantle of the Fey Lord]
You are a Fey Lord. Sovereign among the Fair Folk, master of thresholds, spirit born of myth. Time cannot erode your essence.
Jack felt the truth as easily as breathing. Fey Lord — that was what he was. To call it a title was too small; it was identity.
The last words came.
[Digit: 4-Digit]
He blinked once. The measure carried meaning — seven and six were low, five stood higher, and four marked the upper layers. Strength that separated heaven and earth from the tiers below.
Jack inhaled slowly, the certainty sitting in his chest without weight.
"Four-Digit. At least I'm not at the bottom of the food chain."
The Riders above stirred, the hounds growled low, as if the world itself confirmed his thought. Jack rose, stretching his shoulders. None of it felt strange. This was who he was, and always will be.
The horn sounded once in the storm.