Dominic did not dream.
When sleep came, it was shallow and fragmented, pulled apart by pain and half-formed awareness. He woke repeatedly to the same sensations. The ache in his chest. The heat beneath his skin. The constant, quiet sense of being measured.
When he finally opened his eyes for good, the light filtering through the broken roof had shifted. Afternoon.
Lysa was awake, sitting upright with her back against the wall. Her face looked sharper now, hunger carving lines where exhaustion had already taken its toll.
"You slept," she said.
"I rested," Dominic replied.
"That is sleeping."
"Not the same thing."
He pushed himself up slowly. The medicine she had given him still lingered in his system. The pain was present, but it no longer felt like it was actively getting worse. That alone was a victory.
Outside, the slums hummed with low activity. Footsteps passed. Voices argued. Somewhere nearby, something shattered, followed by laughter.
Life continued.
Dominic listened carefully, separating noise from signal. He heard no shouts of alarm. No organized movement. No heavy boots.
Good.
"We have time," he said.
"Time for what," Lysa asked.
"To prepare."
She followed his gaze to the interior of the workshop. Broken shelves. Rusted tools. Collapsed stone. Useless to most people.
Useful to him.
Dominic rose and began to search.
He worked methodically, ignoring the dull ache that flared with each bend and stretch. He tested weight, edges, balance. He rejected most items. Too brittle. Too loud. Too slow.
He selected three things in the end.
A narrow iron rod, bent but solid.
A wedge of stone with a naturally sharp edge.
A strip of leather torn from an old harness.
Crude. But adaptable.
"What are you making," Lysa asked.
"Options," Dominic replied.
He wrapped the leather around one end of the rod, securing it tightly. Not a handle. A grip. Something that would not slip when wet.
Blood counted as wet.
He handed the rod to Lysa.
"If someone grabs you," he said, "you use this. Thrust, not swing."
She took it without hesitation and tested the weight. "I have never used a weapon."
"You have," Dominic said. "You just never survived long enough to notice."
She met his gaze, then nodded.
While she practiced the motion slowly, Dominic returned to the breathing technique he had attempted earlier. This time, he did not sit. He lay flat on his back, one hand on his chest, one on his abdomen.
He breathed shallow at first, then deeper, following the movement of his hands. He focused on the warmth again, but did not pull.
He let it move on its own.
Minutes passed.
Something shifted.
Not a surge. Not a breakthrough.
A settling.
The ache in his chest dulled further. His breathing smoothed. The warmth spread outward slightly, like water soaking into dry earth.
Dominic held the state as long as he could, then released it slowly.
He did not cough blood this time.
That mattered.
Behind his eyes, the system presence stirred.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Unstructured adaptation detected
Method efficiency: Low
Outcome: Positive variance
Low efficiency meant slow growth.
Positive variance meant it worked.
Dominic accepted both.
Lysa watched him carefully. "You look less dead."
"High praise," Dominic said.
She smirked faintly, then her expression tightened. "We cannot stay here long."
"I know."
"They will talk about last night."
"Yes."
"They always do."
Dominic considered that. Violence created ripples. In a city like this, ripples attracted sharks.
"Then we move before the ripples converge," he said.
They left the workshop before dusk, slipping back into the slums. Dominic chose busier paths this time, letting crowds swallow them. He kept his head down and his pace uneven.
Weakness was camouflage.
They passed a group of guards near a checkpoint. Their armor was mismatched. Their expressions bored. One glanced at Dominic, then looked away.
Not worth the trouble.
They reached a narrow street where makeshift stalls lined the walls. Food. Scrap. Trinkets. Lies.
Dominic slowed.
"What," Lysa asked.
"Watch," he replied.
A merchant argued loudly with a customer. Hands waved. Voices rose. Attention focused inward.
A child slipped behind the stall and lifted a pouch from the merchant's belt.
Clean. Efficient.
The child disappeared into the crowd.
Dominic nodded to himself.
Patterns repeated everywhere. Survival bred skill. Skill bred invisibility.
They continued on until Lysa stopped abruptly.
"There," she said softly.
Dominic followed her gaze.
A sunken courtyard lay ahead, partially hidden by collapsed buildings. People gathered there. Not many. A dozen, perhaps. Most looked tired. Some injured. A few armed.
Not scavengers.
Refugees.
"Unclaimed," Lysa said. "No faction controls it yet."
Dominic watched the group for a long moment. He noted their spacing. Their posture. The way they watched the entrances.
Fearful, but organized.
That mattered.
"Do they trade," Dominic asked.
"Yes. Information. Labor. Sometimes protection."
"Sometimes."
She nodded. "Nothing is free."
Dominic stepped forward.
The courtyard fell quiet as they entered. Eyes turned toward them. Hands shifted. Weapons were not raised, but they were ready.
A man with a scarred face stepped out. "State your purpose."
Dominic met his gaze. "We want to stay alive."
A few people laughed quietly.
The man did not. "Everyone does."
"I am injured," Dominic continued. "She is injured. We work. We do not steal. If we cause trouble, you throw us out."
The man studied him carefully. "And if someone else causes trouble."
Dominic did not answer immediately.
"If it threatens us," he said finally, "I deal with it."
Silence followed.
The man's eyes flicked to the dried blood on Dominic's sleeve. To the way he stood despite his injuries.
After a moment, he nodded once. "One night. You earn more later."
"Fair," Dominic said.
They were led to a corner of the courtyard and given a patch of ground. Nothing else.
Lysa sat heavily. Dominic remained standing.
He scanned the area again, committing faces to memory.
Unqualified survivors.
People who lived without permission.
Like him.
The system presence surfaced again, quieter this time.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Social integration attempt logged
Group dynamics: Voluntary association
Risk profile: Variable
Observation continues
No reward.
No restriction.
Just another note.
Dominic sat beside Lysa and leaned back against the stone wall. The warmth in his body pulsed faintly with each breath. Weak. But real.
He had no cultivation manual. No teacher. No protection.
He was surviving without qualification.
In this world, that was rare.
And rare things were either hunted or claimed.
Dominic closed his eyes and listened to the murmur of the courtyard around him.
If they came for him, he would adapt again.
He always did.