The wind carried dust and the distant roar of drums as Zac descended the mountain path.
He was still basking in the afterglow of his breakthrough — every breath smooth, every motion light as air. The world felt different now: sharper, deeper, alive with unseen rhythm.
Even the wind seemed to hum in time with his pulse.
But halfway down the ridge, that rhythm changed.
The ground trembled.
Zac froze, eyes narrowing.
From the distant plains came the sound of thunder — not the storm-born kind, but the slow, deliberate pounding of footsteps.
A shadow moved across the treeline, blotting out the afternoon sun.
Then it appeared.
A massive beast, scales dark as molten iron, its eyes like twin embers smoldering in smoke. Each step it took made the very earth groan. Strapped to its back was an armored platform — and on it stood a man.
Zac's heart jolted.
He knew that silhouette. The proud bearing. The aura that rolled off him like an invisible tide.
The same warrior he had seen the day he clawed out of his grave.
The rider guided his beast with one hand, a long spear strapped to his back, its blade glinting like liquid silver.
The beast's breath steamed the air, its low growl vibrating through Zac's bones.
Around the warrior fluttered banners of deep crimson, each marked with a symbol shaped like a fanged wolf biting into the sun — the sigil of the Ironfang Dominion.
"So he's from the Dominion…" Zac murmured.
He ducked behind a rock as the beast lumbered past the road below. Its sheer presence made the surrounding forest bend as though in fear.
The warrior's aura was suffocating — refined, ancient, deadly calm. This was no local brute. This was someone who had touched realms the tribes only dreamed of.
When the dust settled, Zac exhaled slowly. "So… it begins."
By the time Zac reached the tribe, the square was alive with chaos.
Drums pounded. Smoke rose from fire pits where the last of the tribe's meat sizzled in celebration. Children ran barefoot through the dirt, and even the weary miners smiled for the first time in months.
Lyra spotted him the moment he entered the square.
"Zac!" She hurried over, brushing dust from her apron. "Where have you been? Everyone's gathered—something big's happening!"
Zac smiled faintly. "I noticed."
She paused, blinking. There was something different about him — though she couldn't name what.
His posture was straighter, his eyes brighter, his presence somehow heavier yet calmer. The frail boy she'd nursed back from death now carried himself like someone much older — steadier.
"Zac…" she whispered, frowning slightly. "You… look taller?"
He laughed softly. "Must be the mountain air."
Before she could press further, a booming voice rolled across the square.
"People of Flintclaw!"
The roar silenced the crowd at once.
The man from before — the Dominion warrior — stood at the center of the square. Behind him loomed his colossal beast, chained to the posts but restless, snorting plumes of white steam.
Its hide shimmered faintly with runes of containment, each one burning with soft crimson light.
The warrior's armor gleamed black and red, engraved with the Dominion sigil. A scar ran from his temple down to his jaw, but his eyes were steady, sharp as drawn blades.
"I am Captain Darius Valen, of the Ironfang Dominion's Outer Division!" his voice thundered. "By decree of the Dominion Council, I come to announce this frontier's selection for the upcoming Warrior Examination!"
A murmur spread through the tribe like wildfire.
"The examination…"
"They've come here?"
"This is real?"
The Patriarch hobbled forward, bowing low. "Honored Captain Darius! The Flintclaw Tribe welcomes the Dominion's envoy!"
Darius nodded curtly. "Three dozen tribes have been chosen to provide candidates. From each, thirty will be permitted to present themselves for evaluation. The chosen shall travel under my command to the Ironfang Citadel within thirty days."
Excitement and fear rippled through the crowd. For most, this was more than a chance at glory — it was salvation.
"To serve the Dominion," Darius continued, "is to step beyond the walls of poverty. To fail…"
His gaze swept across them like a blade.
"…is to return here as dust."
Silence fell. Even the fire cracked quietly, as if in respect.
Lyra whispered, "Thirty candidates… our tribe barely has thirty men fit to fight."
Zac's eyes narrowed. He knew what this meant: every ambitious warrior, every desperate soul would claw for a spot — and Ren Flintclaw would move heaven and earth to secure his own.
Still, Zac's pulse quickened.
This was it. The chance to reach beyond this dirt, this hunger — the chance he'd been waiting for.
Darius Valen gestured toward the forge. "In ten days, the Dominion's measuring crystals will arrive. Prepare your finest. I will personally oversee their first evaluation."
As he mounted the beast again, the ground shook once more. The creature roared, wings of smoke spreading behind it, and then lumbered toward the ridge where it would rest.
Only when it was gone did the crowd erupt in cheers.
"Glory to the Flintclaw Tribe!"
"We'll have champions among us!"
Zac stood quietly at the edge, his golden veins faint beneath his sleeves.
Lyra looked at him, her expression caught between pride and worry. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"
He smiled. "I'd be lying if I said no."
She sighed. "Just… be careful. That man—Darius Valen—he feels like someone who's walked through fire and come back."
Zac's eyes turned toward the distant horizon, where the Dominion banners flapped against the dying sun.
"So have I," he whispered.