The morning sun rose pale over the plains, casting long shadows from the remnants of the distant battlefield Elder had observed the night before. Hallowford lay behind him now, a small dot of civilization surrounded by wilderness. The air smelled faintly of smoke and iron, remnants from the armies he had watched clash at the Crimson Horizon.
Elder adjusted the straps of his armor, feeling the familiar pulse of the Covenant Seed in his chest. The Trial of Fire and his brush with the Dominion path had changed him; his body stronger, his senses sharper, and his mind more attuned to the subtle whispers of power. But the Seed whispered louder now, more demanding, urging him to act—not merely to survive, but to shape the events around him.
Mara rode silently beside him, the quiet only broken by the occasional snort of their horses. She had been a guide, a protector, and at times, the only tether to what remained of Elder's humanity.
"We need allies," Mara said at last, breaking the silence. "You cannot face empires alone. Strength may win battles, but influence wins wars."
Elder nodded, absorbing her words. He had seen the armies, felt the overwhelming weight of their size and discipline. One man, no matter how strong, could not oppose thousands. Dominion was more than raw strength; it was command, persuasion, subtlety.
Their first stop was a small encampment on the edge of a forested hill, rumored to shelter a band of mercenaries who had survived the conflicts of both the Crimson Dominion and the High Empire. Elder dismounted, his spear in hand, observing the camp carefully. Men and women moved about, tending fires, cleaning weapons, and eyeing them suspiciously.
A tall woman with a scar running across her cheek stepped forward, arms crossed. "Who are you?" Her voice was sharp, commanding, and every movement spoke of experience. "State your purpose before you enter our camp."
Elder took a deep breath, feeling the subtle tug of the Covenant. The Dominion fragment resonated faintly in his mind, offering suggestions, whispers of tactics. He could feel the potential to sway these warriors, to bind their will with words and presence.
"I am Elder," he said firmly. "I seek not only survival but mutual protection. Hallowford survives because people like us work together. I offer you alliance, knowledge, and leadership—if you are willing to listen."
The mercenary leader raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. "Bold words… for a stranger. Many come here seeking soldiers, coin, or shelter. Why should we trust you?"
Elder stepped forward, letting his eyes meet hers, unflinching. "Because I do not ask for blind loyalty. I ask for partnership. Together, we can survive, and together, we can strike a path through this chaos."
The Seed pulsed sharply, a rush of energy running through Elder. He felt a subtle shift, a tug at the edge of consciousness. The Dominion path was offering him power—suggesting strategies, phrasing, tactics. Each word Elder spoke seemed to carry more weight, more authority. The mercenaries hesitated, then slowly, one by one, lowered their weapons.
"Perhaps…" the leader murmured, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can hear you. You have confidence, and that counts for more than most. But know this—we test everyone here. If you betray us, you die."
Elder nodded. "Understood."
The days that followed were a delicate dance of persuasion, negotiation, and subtle demonstration of power. Elder led small hunting parties to secure food, trained the mercenaries in techniques he had honed through trials, and demonstrated both his strength and judgment in skirmishes with roving bandits.
With each success, the Seed whispered louder. Dominion demanded action—not just physical, but mental control. Elder began experimenting cautiously, nudging decisions, guiding their strategies subtly. A hint here, a suggestion there, and slowly, the mercenaries began to look to him for direction.
One evening, around a fire that painted their faces orange, the mercenary leader finally spoke. "Elder, you have proven yourself. I see now that your strength is not only in your spear, but in your mind. We will follow you—but understand, this is just the beginning. Empires do not bend for mere men."
Elder met her gaze, feeling the weight of the Dominion path within him. "I understand. But I will learn how to bend them—not by force, but by influence. Power is not only steel; it is vision, persuasion, and the will to act when others hesitate."
The mercenaries murmured among themselves, and Elder felt a strange satisfaction. This was the first time he truly exercised Dominion, shaping wills without bloodshed. The Seed hummed in approval, acknowledging the first step toward mastery.
As the group moved toward the plains, Elder observed the distant movements of the Crimson Dominion army. They were preparing for a new offensive, their banners gleaming under the rising sun. From the east, scouts of the High Empire were already probing weak points, testing defenses.
Elder realized that time was fleeting. Every action, every alliance, every choice mattered. The Dominion path offered potential, but also demanded vigilance. A misstep here could lead to disaster.
Mara rode beside him, her expression serious. "You have skill, Elder. But remember—the world will test you beyond your limits. Empires fight with more than swords. They fight with secrets, deceit, and ambition. One wrong move, and even your allies may turn against you."
Elder's eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. The plains stretched endlessly, a living chessboard of war and politics. He felt the Seed throb with anticipation. Dominion demanded more than obedience; it demanded foresight. Strategy. Calculation. And Elder would need to learn quickly.
The first night in the mercenary camp, Elder sat alone beneath the stars, meditating on the lessons of the day. Every whisper of the Covenant, every pulse of the Seed, every nuance in the mercenaries' behavior was a clue—a tool to be honed. Dominion was not merely control; it was understanding, patience, and timing.
And Elder was determined to master it.
He glanced at the distant horizon, where the armies of the Crimson Dominion and the High Empire loomed like titans poised to clash. The war was no longer a distant thunder; it was a storm approaching with unstoppable force.
Elder's hand tightened around the haft of his spear. I will not merely survive. I will shape this world. I will bend destiny itself, and those who stand in my way will fall.
The Seed pulsed in agreement, and for the first time, Elder felt the weight of true purpose. Hallowford had been a beginning, the Trial of Fire a forge, and now—the first alliances—the foundation of his path toward something far greater than survival.
Mara approached quietly, sensing his thoughts. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we make our move. The world will not wait, and neither can we."
Elder nodded, gazing once more at the Crimson Horizon, the glow of dawn painting the plains in blood-red and gold. Empires would rise, fall, and collide. And in the shadows of war, Elder's influence would begin to spread, one step at a time, toward the destiny the Covenant had carved for him.
The Seed pulsed again, steady and insistent. Dominion was no longer potential—it was action. And Elder was ready.