Dane awoke to the scratch of coarse fabric against his cheek. The room smelled faintly of ash, oil, and a metallic scent. Zeph lay next to him, sprawled across the bed, snoring like a chainsaw. Dane blinked at the ceiling, trying to remember how birds could even snore.

  Lyra lay across his legs. She was sitting at the side of his bed, with deep black circles that told Dane she had just barely succumbed to sleep. She didn't stir as he shifted, but as soon as he tried to inch away, her eyes fluttered open.

  "Careful," she murmured, voice hoarse from sleep. "He might fall."

  Dane gave a crooked grin, slumping back. She needed to sleep more. Instead, he swiped through his System panel, letting his fingers touch the tabs on the page. He had several notifications from the volcano massacre. To his surprise, he now had an additional three levels. He didn't know what to make of the XP required to level up. In his early days, while still on the imperial system, he sometimes would jump 10 whole levels from an encounter; now, he had to get to the edge of death to barely eck out one or two. On the Earthbound System, he earned more XP for each kill, but it was still taking forever to level. He wondered how long people usually stayed at C rank on other systems. He would have to ask Zeph when he woke up. His Crucible Quest timer blinked sharply in the corner: seven days remaining. He had to report to the capital within the week to undergo his trial.

  Level 179. The 900 free stat points gleamed in the corner of his vision. He flipped to his stat page to distribute them.

  And then he saw it.

  Dominion: 1 point

  He frowned. He had never seen this stat before. He tapped it once, putting one of the 900 free points into it, and a faint warmth spread from his chest to his arms. One DE point rose in tandem. His muscles loosened, tension sliding away like sand through fingers.

  He tapped again. And again. And again. Nine hundred points poured in, each one adding another point to his DE. He wasn't physically stronger, but his injuries now felt non-existent.

  Warning: 1000 points in Dominion is the C-rank limit. Exceeding may have consequences.

  Dane ignored it for now, flexing his fingers. Every joint, every muscle felt better than it had in years.

  The door opened. The Doctor stepped in, eyes wide, mouth parted. "By the old gods... I can't sense an injury on you anymore...”

  Dane smirked faintly, flexing his shoulders. "Yep, you did a bang-up job, doc. But who is your helper?"

  Then the priest of the Phoenix entered. His golden collar caught the dim light; his eyes were like molten brass. "Do you have anything to do with the massacre of my brethren?"

  Dane met him evenly. "I had no choice.”

  The priest's face snapped into fury. "There is always a choice!" His voice reverberated through the room, shaking the walls and waking Lyra.

  Dane sat, taking the words in. They pressed against him, heavy and sharp. He said nothing, letting the silence stretch. The priest's rage burned the air, but after a long moment, he exhaled, the tension curling around him like smoke.

  "Out of respect for what you have done for this town, I will not kill you where you sit, but you must leave," he said, voice steady now. "Your companion will be healed, but you cannot remain here. I've just sent word to the rest of the Phoenix brotherhood, do not expect any more resurrections."

  The priest placed a rolled-up scroll onto the small table just next to the door. It was sealed with red wax, bearing the visage of a majestic bird stamped on it. The man walked to the door, and before exiting, he looked back at Dane. It was a look that he knew well. One that he wore himself when he used to see the Imperial guards, or elves.

  The symbols were foreign, twisted, and meaningless to Dane.

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  "I can't read this language. Can you translate for me, Lyra?" He asked.

  She looked at the parchment, and her jaw dropped. "That… that's… one thousand platinum coins," she whispered. "You owe the Church of the Phoenix one thousand platinum coins."

  Dane could tell by her disbelief that it was a lot, but he needed to clarify that amount. "And... how much is that?”

  She didn't respond, and she slowly looked up at the doctor, asking, "How do we owe this much?"

  The man swallowed hard. "He… Zeph… died on the operating table six times. Each resurrection that the priest performed costs more than most people see in a lifetime. Usually, they let people off lightly with some community service..." He paused for a moment before looking at Dane. "I saw you fight at the wall, sir. You don't do anything for the healing."

  Lyra shook her head. "With that much, you could buy this entire town a hundred times over."

  Dane's teeth clenched. His hands gripped the edge of the bedside table, knuckles pale.

  The parchment began to glow a deep gold, and the System pinged sharply. Contract Failed: The presence of the Dominion stat prevents enforcement. Only beings with Divine Essence can force contracts upon you.

  Dane stared at the notification. The Church could demand the money, but the System would not enforce it. Dominion had created a bulwark around him, and yet it just felt like more responsibility. The doctor left the room with a soft click, having seen the magic of the contract fade. He shook his head slightly in disappointment at how the hero of the village was being treated.

  Dane turned to Zeph. The eagle-beastman lay limp, feathers soaked in blood, breathing shallow breaths. Dane shook his head. He would not leave him.

  With careful effort, he lifted Zeph onto his back. Where before the weight had nearly crushed him, now it felt… almost easy.

  Lyra helped stabilize Zeph. The priest's warning echoed behind them: ' You must leave.' Dane nodded solemnly.

  The city awaited beyond the door/

  Dane inhaled, steadying himself. He was ready.

  Dane emerged from the Phoenix building, the sun slanting across the town's cracked streets, and evidence of the monster siege was still littered on the ground, but it was rebuilding. Zeph rested heavily on his back, wings folded, breathing slow and steady, though still unconscious. Lyra walked beside them, keeping a careful hand near the eagle-beast in case his weight shifted.

  Familiar faces began to notice him immediately. Merchants paused mid-motion, children pressed against their mothers' skirts, and a few older men nodded silently. Questions hovered in the air: What happened at the volcano? Is Zeph… alive? Dane shook his head at each one. He couldn't bring himself to tell everyone what happened, partly from shame and partly from just not feeling like explaining himself hundreds of times. The people could think what they wanted—only the quiet rhythm of his steps and the weight on his shoulders.

  They rounded a corner and came across a small market stall tucked between two charred buildings. It was modest with dried meats in a crate, a few water skins lined up along the counter, and some simple tools. The stall creaked in the wind, and the shopkeeper leaned against it, one hand gripping a cleaver, the other propped on the worn wood.

  "Dane," the man rasped, voice rough as gravel. He squinted at the massive figure before him. "Well, look what the volcano spat out. Ain't seen you walkin' like that before." He spat to the side, eyes narrowing at Zeph. "Carryin' the stick in the mud, huh."

  Dane didn't answer. He adjusted Zeph, shifting the beast so the weight rested more comfortably across his shoulders.

  The shopkeeper grunted, motioning to the stock. "Take what you need. Hell, without you messin' with that cursed totem, I'd be sellin' nothing but dust and rats. Just… don't waste it.”

  There was no warmth in his words, no politeness. Just a raw, blunt acknowledgment of what Dane had done for the town. Since he woke up, it seemed as though everyone was trying to remind him that he was a hero. He felt further from that than even when he had a collar around his neck. If he had only tried to talk down the priests, then maybe he wouldn't have had to slaughter so many.

  Dane gave a curt nod, letting his hand brush over the rations. He stuffed a few dried meat packs and water skins into his pack. Lyra muttered a quiet “thank you,” and the man grunted again, returning his gaze to the horizon as though Dane's presence had been acknowledged and closed.

  Zeph shifted slightly, a low rumble escaping his throat. Dane adjusted him again, silent and practiced, and the shopkeeper's eyes followed the movement.

  "Around back, I have a sled. I used to travel the desert with it, but I will never use it again, and I figure it'd help you with the big ass bird on your back." He said.

  Lyra chuckled softly. Dane didn't respond. He followed the man out back and strapped Zeph inside the wooden sled, which reminded Dane of the sleds he had seen in the old cartoon, Balto. There was a harness for some working animal to pull it.

  "I don't suppose you'd let me take whatever used to pull this," Dane said to the shopkeeper.

  "Would if I could, young man, but Bertha died years ago. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

  With supplies in the sled, they moved down the streets. Dane pulled it, and Lyra ambled at his side. The air smelled faintly of distant rain. Dane's mind was elsewhere, mapping the desert route, calculating rations, keeping the Crucible Quest timer firmly in view: seven days remaining.

  The desert waited beyond the forest that surrounded the town, unyielding and merciless.