Dominic woke before dawn.
Not because he was rested, but because pain had sharpened enough to drag him back to consciousness. His chest felt tight and swollen, as if something inside had shifted during the night and refused to settle back into place. Each breath scraped. Slow breaths helped. Deep ones did not.
He stayed still and listened.
The ruined building was quiet. No footsteps outside. No voices. Only the distant murmur of the slums waking up and the occasional crackle of a fire somewhere nearby.
Lysa lay a few steps away, curled on her side. Her breathing was shallow but steady. The splint had held through the night. That was something.
Dominic pushed himself up carefully, bracing one hand against the wall. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He waited it out, jaw clenched, until the world steadied again.
His body was failing him.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically. Quietly.
That was worse.
He pressed his fingers against his ribs and felt a dull throb answer back. Internal damage. Bruising at least. Possibly more. The knife wound along his arm had crusted over, but the skin around it was hot.
Infection would come if he stayed like this.
Dominic exhaled slowly.
I need to strengthen this body, he thought. Not later. Now.
He remembered fragments from the borderlands. Men sitting cross-legged in the dirt, forcing breath through their bodies. Crude cultivation. Inefficient. Dangerous.
Better than nothing.
He shifted into a seated position and straightened his back as much as his injuries allowed. His breath came shallow at first. He slowed it deliberately, counting the rhythm.
Inhale through the nose. Hold. Exhale through the mouth.
Again.
Again.
Pain flared each time his lungs expanded. He pushed through it, carefully. Not forcing. Just enough to feel something move inside him. Something warm and sluggish.
Nothing happened.
He adjusted his posture and tried again.
Minutes passed. Sweat formed on his brow. His hands trembled.
Still nothing.
Frustration rose, sharp and unwelcome. Dominic crushed it down. Anger wasted energy.
He tried a different approach. Instead of focusing on breath, he focused on sensation. On the faint warmth in his chest. On the heaviness in his limbs. On the ache beneath his skin.
He imagined drawing that warmth inward. Not upward. Not outward. Inward.
A spark flickered.
Just for a moment, something shifted. His heart stuttered, then resumed its rhythm. Pain lanced through his chest so hard that he gasped and broke concentration.
He doubled over, coughing.
Blood spattered onto the stone floor.
Lysa stirred. "Dominic."
"I am fine," he said automatically.
She pushed herself upright, face pale. "You are lying."
"Yes."
She crawled closer and reached for his arm. His skin was hot. Too hot.
"You should not do that again," she said. "Whatever you were doing."
"I should," Dominic replied. "Just not like that."
Behind his eyes, the familiar presence surfaced.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Unstable self modification attempt detected
Physiological failure risk: High
Outcome: Non lethal interruption
No warning. No instruction.
Just a note that he had nearly killed himself.
Dominic wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His vision blurred briefly, then cleared.
"So the body cannot take it yet," he murmured.
Lysa stared at him. "You were trying to cultivate."
"Yes."
"With injuries like that."
"Yes."
"You are either brave or stupid."
Dominic met her gaze. "Those are not opposites."
She huffed a weak laugh, then winced as pain shot through her leg.
"Help me sit," she said.
He did, moving carefully. When she was settled, she reached into her pack again. This time she pulled out a small vial with cloudy liquid inside.
"Do not ask where I got it," she said. "It will not fix you. But it might keep you alive."
Dominic examined the vial. The liquid smelled sharp and bitter.
"Medicine," he said.
"Poor quality," Lysa replied. "But real."
He did not hesitate. He drank it in one swallow.
Fire burned down his throat. His stomach clenched violently. For a moment he thought he would vomit it back up. He forced it down.
Heat spread through his limbs. The ache in his chest dulled slightly. Not gone. But muted.
Enough.
They rested until full light filtered through the broken roof. Outside, the slums had come fully awake. Voices rose. Arguments. Laughter. The sounds of survival layered over one another.
Dominic stood again, slower this time.
"We need to move," he said. "Before someone remembers last night."
Lysa nodded. "I know a place."
He raised an eyebrow.
"A workshop," she continued. "Abandoned. No one goes there because the roof collapsed years ago."
"Show me."
They slipped out into the alleys, moving with the flow of people instead of against it. Dominic kept his posture slightly hunched, his steps uneven. He looked like just another injured drifter.
Which he was.
As they walked, Dominic watched everything. Where people gathered. Where they avoided. Where guards passed and where they did not.
Information mattered more than strength right now.
They reached the workshop near midday. It was little more than a stone shell, half buried under debris. The interior was shadowed and quiet.
Dominic approved immediately.
They barricaded the entrance loosely and settled inside. Lysa lowered herself against a wall with a hiss of pain.
Dominic sat opposite her and closed his eyes again.
This time, he did not try to force anything.
He breathed slowly and let his awareness expand just enough to feel the warmth in his body without pulling at it. He held that state.
Minutes passed.
Nothing dramatic happened. No surge. No breakthrough.
But the pain did not worsen.
That was improvement.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Adaptive behavior detected
Self regulation response: Improved
Observation continues
Dominic opened his eyes.
His body was weak. Damaged. Betraying him at every turn.
But it was learning.
And so was he.
If brute force failed, he would adapt. If shortcuts killed him, he would take the long path.
This world rewarded patience as much as violence.
Dominic leaned back against the wall and let his eyes close again, not to sleep, but to think.
His body might betray him.
But his mind would not.
And in the end, that would be enough.