Dominic did not touch the woman's leg.
Not yet.
He crouched a step away from her, back pressed lightly against the ravine wall, eyes fixed on the forest above. The dead trees stood close together here, their blackened trunks rising like spears. Ash drifted slowly through the air, settling on his skin and hair until he brushed it away without thinking.
Nothing moved.
That did not mean nothing was there.
Pain pulsed steadily through his chest, dull and constant. He kept his breathing shallow and slow, counting each inhale. Control mattered. If panic crept in, mistakes followed.
The woman watched him with equal intensity. Her face was pale beneath the grime, lips cracked, eyes sharp despite the fever sheen clinging to them. One hand hovered near her waist where a knife should have been.
"You are thinking of leaving," she said quietly.
Dominic did not look at her. "I am thinking."
She gave a short laugh that turned into a cough. She pressed her fist against her mouth until it passed. "People who think usually decide."
"That depends on how many bad options there are," Dominic replied.
He shifted slightly and scanned the ground around her. Drag marks led from the forest edge to the rock where she sat. Blood stained the dirt in uneven streaks. She had crawled. Far.
That took will.
It also meant something had decided she was not worth finishing.
Dominic finally turned his attention to her leg. The bone had not pierced the skin, but the swelling was severe. Purple and dark red discoloration spread beneath torn fabric. Untreated, it would worsen fast.
He reached for a fallen branch and tested it against the rock. It snapped cleanly.
Good.
"What happened," he asked.
"Slavers," she said without hesitation. "Iron Fang."
The words slid into place too easily.
Dominic felt his jaw tighten. He kept his expression neutral.
"They sweep the borderlands," she continued. "Weak villages. Lone travelers. Anyone who cannot fight back. If you are strong, they sell you. If you are weak, they leave you."
"And you," Dominic said, "were weak."
"Yes."
No denial. No shame.
"They broke my leg when I tried to run. Said it was not worth the effort to finish me."
Dominic nodded once.
The logic was familiar. Cruel, but efficient. He had already seen it in action.
He tore strips from his shirt, ignoring the way cold air burned against his skin. Each movement pulled at his ribs. He forced his hands to remain steady.
"This will hurt," he said.
She looked at the branch, then at his face. "If I scream, you will leave."
"Yes."
"Then do it."
He positioned the splint and set the leg in one sharp motion.
Her body went rigid. She bit down on her sleeve hard enough that her jaw shook. A muffled sound escaped anyway, low and broken. Sweat broke out across her forehead. Tears welled in her eyes but did not fall.
Dominic worked quickly, binding the splint tight.
When he finished, she sagged back against the rock, breathing in ragged pulls.
Minutes passed before she spoke again.
"Name," Dominic said.
"Lysa," she replied.
"Dominic."
She studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. "That does not sound like a borderlands name."
"It is not," he said.
"That usually means trouble."
"Yes."
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "You are young."
"So are you," Dominic replied.
"I have lived here long enough to know what happens to boys like you."
He did not ask what she meant. He already knew.
Dominic stood slowly, testing his balance. Pain flared, sharp enough to make his vision swim. He waited it out. The pain receded to something manageable.
"We move before night," he said. "If we stay here, we die."
"I cannot walk," Lysa said.
"You can," Dominic replied. "Just not well."
She looked at him, searching for something. Pity, perhaps. Mercy.
She found neither.
"You will not carry me," she said.
"No."
She nodded once. "Then give me something to lean on."
Dominic broke another branch and handed it to her. He took her arm and helped her to her feet. She leaned heavily on him, her weight pulling against his injured body. He adjusted, locking his stance, distributing the strain.
They moved slowly, step by step, deeper into the forest.
Dominic chose paths that avoided open ground. He followed shallow depressions and clusters of dead brush. He avoided areas where ash lay undisturbed. Signs mattered.
The forest watched.
As they walked, Lysa spoke in short bursts.
"Iron Fang keeps camps along the border. They trade with Virel City. Guards look the other way."
"Who buys," Dominic asked.
"Nobles. Churches. Anyone with coin."
He stored that away.
They reached a shallow ravine just as the light began to fade. Ash clouds thickened overhead, dimming the sky faster than sunset should have. A cold wind crept through the trees.
Dominic stopped.
"This is where we stay."
Lysa frowned. "This is not shelter."
"It is concealment," he replied. "Shelter attracts attention."
They climbed down carefully. Dominic arranged loose debris to break their outline, then pressed himself into the earth beside her. The ground was cold and damp.
Night settled in.
Behind his eyes, the familiar awareness surfaced.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Multi subject proximity detected
Resource sharing behavior observed
Survival Probability recalculating
Dominic ignored it.
He focused on the forest sounds. Insects. Wind. Something larger moving far away.
Lysa shifted slightly. "You feel it too," she said.
"Feel what."
"The watching."
He glanced at her. "Yes."
She swallowed. "Is it gods."
"I do not think so."
"That does not help."
"No."
Silence returned.
Time passed slowly. Dominic did not sleep. Every sound sharpened his focus. His body ached, but he forced himself to remain still.
At some point, Lysa spoke again.
"You should have left me."
"Perhaps."
She turned her head slightly. "Why did you not."
Dominic considered the question seriously.
"Because alone, I would still die," he said. "Just slower."
"That is honest."
"Yes."
A distant roar rolled through the forest. Deeper than the gravewolves. Old enough to vibrate in the bones.
Lysa stiffened. "That is not from this region."
"No," Dominic agreed.
Night deepened.
The system presence returned, heavier than before.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Behavior classification updated
Subject Dominic Ashborne
Designation: Adaptive Survivor
Status: Ongoing Observation
No reward.
No warmth.
Just a label.
Dominic rested his hand on the jagged stone beside him. Not a weapon. But something.
In this world, weakness had value only as something to be spent.
He would not be spent.
And he would remember every hand that tried.