[You lay on a cold stone platform, its surface smooth from centuries of use.]
[Three Rune Priests stood over you, their weathered hands moving in intricate patterns as they conducted their examination. Their eyes glowed faintly with psychic energy as they probed the state of your body and soul.]
[Gradually, strength returned to your limbs. The terrible exhaustion that had weighed you down like chains began to lift.]
[Someone removed your bearskin suit while you'd been unconscious. In its place, you now wore a soft gray robe. The fabric was simple but well-made, far more comfortable than the rough hides you'd grown accustomed to.]
[You lowered your head to examine the garment. Patterns resembling claw marks decorated the chest, stylized and deliberate. Beside them, the mark of the Space Wolves, unmistakable in its design.]
[Your gaze shifted to Wolf Priest Ulric, seeking answers.]
[The ancient warrior's expression was difficult to read, somewhere between pride and concern.]
["Your body and soul have been examined," Ulric said, his voice formal, almost ceremonial. "You have received permission to undergo the final trial."]
[He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.]
["Your will is worthy of the glory of the Space Wolves. In fact, it far exceeds what we typically expect from aspirants."]
[The praise should have filled you with satisfaction, but something in Ulric's tone suggested more was coming.]
[The Wolf Priest's expression shifted, becoming almost pained. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of genuine contrition.]
["I must also apologize to you," he continued, the words clearly difficult for him to speak. "Due to my momentary negligence, your arrival unexpectedly aroused the curiosity of one of our younger brothers."]
[Your mind went immediately to Lucas.]
["Even though you successfully survived the dangerous trial at the Gate of Morkai, and your soul proved strong enough to resist the Dark Gods' temptations, the fact remains that you were put in mortal peril without proper authorization or preparation."]
[Ulric's jaw tightened.]
["Such reckless behavior cannot be forgiven, regardless of the outcome. The Astartes named Lucas will be stripped of all his past honors. He will return to the Blood Claws and undergo their training regimen once more, learning proper discipline."]
[Your eyes found Lucas across the chamber. The red-haired Space Marine stood with his head slightly bowed, those wolf-like yellow eyes fixed on the floor. His bruised and swollen face bore no expression, but you sensed resignation in his posture.]
[You opened your mouth to speak, then hesitated. The words caught in your throat.]
[You didn't resent Lucas. In truth, you were almost grateful for his unauthorized action. His reckless prank had inadvertently proven your worth beyond any doubt. A foreigner joining the Space Wolves was nearly unheard of. Without the trial at the Gate of Morkai, the Chapter's leadership might have delayed your acceptance indefinitely, perhaps refused it entirely.]
[But speaking such thoughts aloud seemed inappropriate. Lucas was being punished according to the Chapter's laws. Your opinion as an outsider, even one who'd survived the trial, carried little weight in such matters.]
[You remained silent.]
[In the sixth week, you tasted freshly baked bread and ale for the first time in what felt like months.]
[The bread was still warm from the ovens, soft and yielding beneath your fingers. You tore into it like a starving animal, barely pausing to breathe between bites. The ale was cold and slightly astringent, with a bitter aftertaste, but after weeks of drinking melted snow and animal blood, it might as well have been the finest wine in the Imperium.]
[The platters of roasted meat that had dominated your diet for so long sat forgotten on the table. Right now, all you wanted was bread and ale, simple foods that reminded you of civilization.]
[The period of recovery did you immense good. Rest, proper food, and time away from constant danger allowed your body to heal completely. Your mind, battered by the psychic horrors you'd endured, found its equilibrium once more.]
[Your physical strength returned to peak condition. Your mental fortitude, tested beyond measure, emerged stronger than before.]
[Wolf Priest Ulric came for you when the time was right.]
[He led you through winding corridors deep within the Fang, descending into sections of the fortress monastery that felt ancient beyond measure. The walls here were carved stone, not worked metal, and the air carried the weight of centuries.]
[You emerged into a hall illuminated by dancing firelight. Shadows played across the walls, creating the illusion of movement where none existed.]
[A massive statue dominated the far end of the chamber. It depicted a warrior of legendary proportions, his features noble and fierce, his posture suggesting barely restrained power. This was Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves, the Wolf King himself.]
[Below the statue, an altar carved with wolf head motifs supported a roaring fire. Flames leaped and crackled, casting everything in shades of gold and crimson.]
[Several Iron Priests stood waiting, their faces concealed behind metal masks that gave them an inhuman appearance. They moved with quiet precision, their augmetic limbs whirring softly.]
[They surrounded you, forming a loose circle. One of them approached carrying something.]
[A heavy metal armband was placed on your upper arm and secured with precise adjustments. The metal was cold against your skin, its weight substantial. Engraved on its surface was a wolf head rune, stylized and ancient, its eyes seeming to stare directly ahead no matter which angle you viewed it from.]
[You studied the rune, trying to decipher its meaning, but its significance escaped you.]
[Wolf Priest Ulric's expression had transformed. Gone was the occasionally jovial warrior who'd taught you to hunt and survive. In his place stood a solemn priest conducting sacred rites, his bearing formal and reverent.]
[He approached the burning altar and carefully lifted an object from its center. An ancient metal chalice, its surface covered in intricate engravings and decorations. Despite its age, it shone in the firelight, polished to perfection.]
[Ulric turned and walked slowly toward you, the chalice held before him with both hands. Each step was measured, ritualistic.]
["This is a sacred relic of the Space Wolves," his voice resonated through the hall, deeper and more formal than you'd ever heard it. "The Cup of Wulfen, once touched by Russ himself when he walked among us."]
[He stopped before you, holding the chalice at chest height. You could see liquid within, honey-colored and gleaming.]
["Mortal boy, if you wish to truly become a Space Wolf, you must drink the mead in this cup and receive the Mark of Russ."]
[His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the formality cracked. You saw concern there, and something else. Warning, perhaps. Or hope.]
["This will change you," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Your body will be remade. Your very essence will be altered. The Canis Helix will be introduced into your system, and if your body accepts it, you will begin the transformation into one of the Adeptus Astartes."]
[He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over you.]
["But know this: many do not survive. The Canis Helix is savage and unforgiving. It will test your body and soul one final time. If you are found wanting, if your genetic structure cannot adapt, you will die. There is no middle ground. No partial success. Only transformation or death."]
[The Iron Priests stood silent around you, witnesses to this moment. The fire crackled. Shadows danced.]
[Ulric's hands extended further, offering you the chalice.]
["The choice is yours to make, mortal boy. Drink and become something more than human, or refuse and remain as you are. There is no shame in either path. But once you drink, there is no turning back."]
[You stared at the Cup of Wulfen. The mead within seemed to glow with its own inner light, reflecting the flames around you.]
[Your hand reached out, steady and sure. Your fingers closed around the ancient chalice, feeling the cold metal, the weight of history and tradition.]
[You raised it to your lips.]
[The mead was sweet and strong, with an aftertaste that burned like fire. You drank deeply, feeling the liquid run down your throat and settle heavily in your stomach.]
[The chalice emptied. You lowered it and returned it to Ulric's waiting hands.]
[For a moment, nothing happened.]
[Then the fire in your stomach spread. Heat radiated outward through your veins, following your circulatory system like molten metal. It wasn't painful at first, merely intense, overwhelming.]
[Then the pain began.]
[Your body convulsed. Muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the Canis Helix began its work, rewriting your genetic code, tearing down what you were to rebuild you into something new.]
[You fell to your knees, teeth clenched against the agony. It felt like every cell in your body was being simultaneously destroyed and remade.]
[The Iron Priests moved quickly, supporting your body as it thrashed. They laid you on the stone floor with surprising gentleness.]
[Wolf Priest Ulric stood over you, his expression grave but not without hope.]
["Fight, mortal boy," he said quietly. "Let your will shape your flesh. Prove that you are worthy of the legacy of Russ."]
[The pain intensified. Your vision blurred. Consciousness began to slip away.]
[The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the statue of Leman Russ, the Wolf King, his stone eyes seeming to watch over you with eternal vigilance.]