The night in late summer of 1845, forever etched in memory, came to be known as The Wolf's Curse among the people of Alberta. The landowners spoke of it in hushed whispers, while the common folk told tales of fire and blood that swept through the countryside like a storm. Governor Fatero Hunt, alarmed by the carnage, personally sent envoys to negotiate with William Howlett, demanding an end to such devastation. A fragile peace was brokered, but an unspoken rule took hold—one that warned all of Canada that William Howlett was not a man to be crossed.
From that night forward, his name was legend.
Even in the farthest reaches of the country, estate owners and government officials alike knew of the old wolf of Alberta, the madman who had burned seven estates to the ground in a single night. They feared the Howlett name, and that fear kept their ambitions in check.
The Widow and the Heir
Elizabeth Howlett withdrew from the world after the funeral. Once a woman of charm and grace, she now carried herself like a living specter. Every day, she walked the path to the town church, offering prayers for the dead and alms to the poor. She cared for the orphans, tended to the elderly, and spoke little of the past.
Some speculated that, had she been free, she might have remarried and left Alberta behind. But William Howlett's watchful gaze never wavered. Both of them knew the truth—John's death had been the result of Elizabeth's past. Without James, the last heir of the Howlett family, her fate might have been no different from that of Thomas Logan.
So she remained.
And in the vast halls of Howlett Manor, the weight of an entire legacy fell upon the old man's shoulders. William Howlett, despite the years pressing upon him, refused to break. If fate demanded that he endure, then endure he would—for his grandson, for the future.
The Changing World
Canada remained largely unchanged over the next decade. A new governor had taken office a year prior, a hereditary marquis in his forties, dissatisfied with the autonomy of the estate owners. He sought to expand the governor's power, pressing against the independent landholders who ruled the frontier.
But in Alberta, William Howlett's grip was unshaken.
Since that fateful night ten years ago, the Howlett estate had flourished, expanding its reach over farmland, trade routes, and settlements. His dominance was undisputed, making him the greatest obstacle to the governor's ambitions. But time was catching up to the old wolf. His once-unyielding frame was beginning to bow. The straight-backed warrior of his youth had long since faded, and his enemies watched from the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike.
Meanwhile, across the border, the United States was shifting. The rise of abolitionists, the formation of the Free Soil Party, and the brewing conflict over slavery were sending tremors through the continent. The Compromise of 1850 had passed, enforcing stricter fugitive slave laws, and in 1854, Congress had erased the geographical boundaries between free and slave states.
Tensions mounted. The Republican Party had been founded, openly opposing slavery, and the storm of civil war was gathering on the horizon.
James Howlett, however, remained untouched by the turmoil beyond Alberta. Under the protective shadow of his grandfather, his life had been one of strict discipline and relentless training. He studied, observed, and prepared. But more than anything, he trained his body.
The Making of a Warrior
James devoted himself to the martial arts—an obsession that bordered on the unnatural.
He practiced ancient methods of strengthening the body, ways of conditioning muscle, bone, and spirit that had been lost to time. His past life had given him glimpses of these arts, but now, in this world, he had the chance to master them.
Among them, Baduanjin was the foundation. It was an ancient Chinese technique, a method of guiding internal energy through breath control and movement. There were many variations—civil and military, northern and southern schools—but James had studied the oldest, the most obscure. The original method had nearly vanished, its secrets lost with time, but James knew enough to reclaim its power.
By day, he trained his body through Baduanjin. By night, he practiced Yi Jin Jing—another lost art, one that strengthened the tendons and realigned the body's internal balance. It had once been rumored to be the pinnacle of martial cultivation, a legend among warriors. But to James, it was merely another tool, another means of preparing himself for what lay ahead.
At sixteen, he had reached a level of flexibility and control beyond what most warriors achieved in a lifetime. He could perform splits effortlessly, bend his body in unnatural ways, and dislocate his joints at will. His control over his muscles was absolute—an advantage that would render most holds and locks useless against him.
But his progress was not without cost.
The Curse Within
As the years passed, an old affliction returned—one he had almost forgotten.
At first, it was nothing more than a fever, a strange exhaustion that left him drained and weak. But as time passed, it worsened. His body would burn with unbearable heat, his muscles would tremble with unseen energy, and his senses would sharpen to inhuman levels.
It happened once every few months. Then every few weeks.
By the time he turned twenty-three, he could no longer ignore it.
The episodes left him incapacitated for days, his body caught between agony and transformation. His healing abilities were beginning to manifest, but they were wild, unpredictable. The pain was unbearable, as if his very bones were shifting beneath his skin.
And he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.
The Girl Who Would Not Yield
"Master James! Wait for me!"
The voice rang out across the fields, clear and sharp as a bell.
James turned in the saddle, watching as Rose O'Hara rode hard to catch up, her white mare carrying her across the plains like a streak of light. Her red hair, long and wild, whipped behind her in the wind, glowing like fire in the midday sun.
She was no longer the freckled girl who had once trailed after him in childhood. She had grown into a striking young woman, her once-round face now refined, her green eyes sharp with determination.
"You can't go alone!" she called, urging her horse forward. "At least take me with you!"
James smirked. "Go back, Rose. The forest isn't safe."
She scowled, slowing her horse beside his. "You always say that. And yet, somehow, you come back alive."
James sighed, nudging his horse forward. "I'll bring you a rabbit if that makes you happy. Now go back before you get into trouble."
Rose hesitated, but eventually turned back, muttering under her breath.
James rode on, the trees closing in around him as he disappeared into the woods. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting golden patterns on the forest floor. He dismounted near a familiar clearing, tying his horse to a low branch before climbing atop a large boulder.
Crossing his legs, he closed his eyes, letting his breath slow. He focused inward, searching for the source of his affliction.
The episodes are getting worse.
His fists clenched. If this continues, I'll be useless before I even have the chance to fight.
He had thought his healing ability would make him invincible. Instead, it was turning into his greatest weakness. His body was changing—reshaping itself into something he couldn't control.
And if he didn't find a way to master it, it would destroy him.
James took a slow breath, centering himself.
I have to get stronger.
He had no other choice.