The first thing Ren felt when he woke was pain.
Not the sharp kind—this was deeper, heavier. A dull ache wrapped around his bones like wet iron, pressing inward with every breath. His body protested even the smallest movement, muscles trembling as if they no longer belonged to him.
He lay on cold stone beneath a gray sky, mist drifting slowly above.
He blinked.
He was alive.
That realization came with a weak laugh that ended in a cough. His chest burned, and his throat felt raw, but his heart still beat—slow, stubborn, defiant.
"So… I didn't die."
A shadow fell over him.
"You came close."
Ren turned his head slightly and saw Kael standing a few steps away, arms folded, expression unreadable as ever. But something in his eyes had changed—less cold, more watchful.
"How long was I out?" Ren asked.
"Three days."
Ren groaned. "That's… embarrassing."
Kael snorted. "You challenged a Shadowhorn Leonor with a half-formed Dominion and lived. Don't pretend you failed."
Ren fell silent.
Fragments of memory surfaced—the crushing pressure, the roar, the moment his will pushed back against something ancient and vast. The feeling hadn't faded. If anything, it lingered beneath his skin, like embers refusing to die.
"I felt it," Ren said quietly. "Something changed."
Kael nodded. "You forced your presence into the world. You made existence acknowledge you."
He stepped closer. "But awakening Dominion is not mastering it."
Ren pushed himself up to sit, wincing. "Then teach me."
Kael studied him for a long moment.
Then he turned and began walking.
"Follow," he said. "Carefully."
The Weight That Never Leaves
They traveled deeper into the highlands, beyond the ravine Ren had survived. The land here was harsher—wind-scoured rock, broken earth, and skies that seemed too vast to offer comfort.
As they walked, Ren noticed something strange.
The air felt… heavy.
Not like before, when a beast's aura crushed him. This was different—subtle, constant, like pressure underwater.
He slowed. "Is this… you?"
Kael nodded. "My Dominion."
Ren swallowed. "You're doing this on purpose?"
"Yes."
Each step became harder. His breathing shortened. His muscles tightened as if resisting invisible hands.
"This is what Dominion truly is," Kael said. "Not an attack. Not a weapon. It is presence."
Ren clenched his jaw and kept walking.
"It's… like walking against a storm," he muttered.
Kael glanced back. "Good. Then you understand."
They walked for nearly an hour. By the end, Ren was drenched in sweat, his legs shaking.
When Kael finally stopped and withdrew his pressure, Ren nearly collapsed forward, catching himself on his knees.
"That… was constant?" Ren gasped.
Kael nodded. "I've lived with it for decades."
Ren stared at him in disbelief.
Kael's voice lowered. "Dominion is not something you turn on. It becomes part of your existence. If you cannot endure your own presence, you will crush yourself before you ever crush another."
Ren sat there, breathing heavily.
"So what do I do?"
Kael turned to face him fully.
"You learn control."
Learning to Stand
The next days were hell in a different way.
Kael did not send Ren to fight beasts.
Instead, he made him stand.
On cliffs battered by wind.
In rivers that tried to sweep him away.
Beneath waterfalls that slammed into his shoulders like hammers.
And always—Kael's Dominion pressed down on him.
"Hold your aura steady," Kael ordered. "Not louder. Not weaker. Stable."
Ren clenched his fists, focusing inward.
At first, his Dominion flared wildly—spiking when he panicked, vanishing when he tired. Every time it surged uncontrolled, Kael increased the pressure.
"You're not asserting yourself," Kael said. "You're screaming."
Ren bit back a groan.
"I don't know how to stop it!"
"You do," Kael replied calmly. "You just don't trust yourself."
Hours passed. Days blurred together.
Slowly, something shifted.
Ren began to feel the boundary of his own presence—not just where it expanded, but where it ended. He learned how to anchor it, how to let it exist without forcing it outward.
One evening, as he stood beneath a roaring cascade, Kael spoke again.
"Feel the water," he said. "It does not fight the rock. It shapes it."
Ren inhaled slowly.
He stopped pushing.
The pressure around him eased—not because Kael withdrew it, but because Ren no longer resisted blindly.
For the first time, his Dominion didn't lash out.
It settled.
The water struck him, but he remained standing.
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Good," he said. "Now you're listening."
The Second Hunt
On the tenth day, Kael led Ren into a forest of towering blackwood trees. The air hummed with unseen life.
"Today," Kael said, "you hunt again."
Ren tensed. "Another apex?"
"No," Kael replied. "Something smarter."
A low chuckle echoed through the forest.
From the shadows emerged a pair of figures—humanoid, tall, with pale skin stretched tight over lean muscle. Their eyes gleamed with cunning.
"Grimvein Stalkers," Ren whispered. "They hunt in pairs."
"Good," Kael said. "Then you know they'll test you."
The creatures circled, their movements coordinated. One feinted left while the other vanished into the brush.
Ren inhaled.
He didn't flare his aura.
He listened.
The forest spoke—not in words, but in pressure shifts, in displaced intent. He felt the right-side presence tighten, preparing to strike.
Ren stepped forward instead of back.
The first Stalker lunged—and slammed into an invisible wall of pressure.
It shrieked in surprise.
Ren didn't attack.
He stood.
His Dominion flowed outward—not violently, but with weight. The ground beneath him cracked faintly.
The second Stalker froze, instincts screaming.
"What… are you?" it hissed.
Ren's voice was calm.
"I stand my ground."
The first creature recovered and slashed—but the blow faltered, its strength wavering under Ren's presence. He struck once, cleanly, knocking it unconscious.
The second fled.
Silence fell.
Ren exhaled slowly, heart pounding—not with fear, but control.
Kael approached.
"You didn't dominate them," he said. "You defined yourself."
Ren looked at his hands. They were steady.
"It feels… different," he admitted. "Like I don't need to shout anymore."
Kael nodded. "Dominion matures when it stops seeking permission."
The Weight of a Name
That night, they rested near a low fire.
Ren stared into the flames. "Kael… why help me?"
Kael didn't answer right away.
"Because power without will destroys," he said finally. "And will without guidance breaks itself."
He looked at Ren. "You stand between those paths."
Ren swallowed. "You think I can really walk this road?"
Kael's gaze hardened—not unkindly.
"You already are."
The fire crackled.
After a long silence, Kael spoke again.
"Tomorrow, we leave the highlands."
Ren blinked. "Already?"
"You've learned to survive your own presence," Kael said. "Now you must learn what it means when others feel it."
Ren felt a chill—not of fear, but anticipation.
"Where are we going?"
Kael stood.
"To the cities," he said. "To people who bend, break, and worship power."
He looked back over his shoulder.
"And to those who will test whether your Dominion rules… or merely exists."
Ren rose to his feet.
The weight inside him shifted—not heavier, not lighter.
Stronger.