The dawn arrived at the swamp with the subtlety of a hammer against a gong.
Renn opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Every muscle in his body protested with the intensity of a union on strike. His arms ached. His legs ached. Parts of his body he didn't even know he had ached.
And there was something heavy on his chest.
"Mrrrow."
Mr. Whiskers, who was Lysandra in her feline form, was curled up directly on his sternum, purring with the force of a diesel engine. Her amber eyes were closed, her ears relaxed, and her orange tail swayed lazily from side to side.
"Lysandra," Renn croaked, his voice raspy from sleep. "I can't breathe."
The cat opened one eye.
"Mrow."
"That is not an answer."
"Mrrrow."
"I still can't breathe."
Lysandra yawned, showing small and perfect fangs, and proceeded to settle even more comfortably on top of him. Somehow, she now weighed twice as much.
"How is it possible that you weigh more than yesterday?" Renn tried to move. "You are a celestial princess. Shouldn't you float or something?"
The cat looked at him with absolute feline disdain.
"Mrow."
"I don't care if it's comfortable. My ribs matter."
The tent entrance opened, letting in a ray of swampy light that made Renn squint. Valeria appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed in her purple armor, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
"Good morning, Lord Substitute," she said in her usual professional tone. "Am I interrupting something?"
"I am being crushed by your princess."
"Ah." Valeria observed the scene without expression. "She looks comfortable."
"I am not comfortable."
"I didn't ask about you." Valeria entered and knelt by the improvised cot. "Your Highness, the egg is showing activity."
Lysandra's eyes snapped open. In a fluid movement that defied physics, she leapt from Renn's chest and landed on the tent floor, transforming into her humanoid form before her feet even touched the mud.
Renn inhaled sharply like a man rescued from drowning.
"The egg?" he asked, sitting up with a groan.
"It's hot," Valeria confirmed. "Hotter than last night. And it's vibrating."
"Vibrating?"
"Approximately every forty seconds. Accelerated heart rate, if I had to speculate."
Lysandra was already on her feet, smoothing her black dress with automatic movements. Without Renn's jacket, which she had left neatly folded on a supply crate, she looked less like a refugee and more like the royalty she was.
"Show it to me," she ordered.
Renn searched his dimensional storage with a flick of his bracelet. The egg appeared in his hands, and he almost dropped it out of surprise.
It was hot. The purple veins running across the black shell pulsed with dim light, and yes, it was definitely vibrating. It was a subtle but constant tremor, like a phone on silent mode.
"It's throbbing," Renn whispered.
"It's about to hatch," Lysandra corrected, leaning in to examine the egg without touching it. "The energy fluctuations are consistent with a waking phase. I estimate... an hour? Maybe less."
"Should I be worried about it exploding?"
Valeria considered the question.
"Technically, all births are small explosions of life."
"That doesn't reassure me at all."
"It wasn't my intention to reassure you."
Forty minutes later, the group was gathered outside the tent.
Renn had placed the egg on a flat rock, the most stable surface he could find in the swampy terrain. The morning sun, filtered through the perpetual mist of the Rotting Forest, illuminated the scene with a dull, grey light.
Lysandra stood to his right, arms crossed, watching the egg with the intensity of a scientist before a crucial experiment. Valeria patrolled the perimeter with silent steps, her golden eyes constantly scanning for threats.
The egg glowed.
Cracks began to appear without warning. Fine lines of orange light spread across the black shell like lightning in slow motion.
"Here it comes," Lysandra said, leaning forward.
Renn held his breath.
"What do you think it is?" he asked in a low voice. "The system marked everything as unknown."
"Given the energy signature and the pattern of the veins...", Lysandra narrowed her eyes, "...it could be a Shadow Dragon. Or a Dimensional Raven. Perhaps an Ash Basilisk, although those are usually larger."
"So, something impressive."
"Obviously. The Core Chest does not grant mediocre pets." Lysandra allowed herself a small smile. "Prepare to meet your new combat companion, Lord Substitute. Something with presence."
The cracks multiplied.
The orange light intensified.
And then, with a definitive crack, the shell exploded.
Black fragments flew in every direction. A cloud of dark smoke enveloped the rock, dense and smelling of burnt ash. Renn stepped back, shielding his eyes.
"What...?"
The smoke began to dissipate.
Renn expected a dragon. Or at least something with claws and an intimidating presence. Something that justified having turned down an extremely expensive grimoire.
What he saw was...
A chick.
A black chick the size of his fist, with scorched and uneven feathers pointing in every direction as if it had stuck its beak into an electrical socket. Its eyes were disproportionately large for its head, a bright amber color, and its tiny beak was open in what seemed to be existential confusion.
The chick coughed.
A small cloud of ash came out of its throat.
No one said a word.
The silence stretched for several seconds that felt like hours.
"...This is disappointing," Lysandra finally said.
The chick looked at her. It peeped once, a high-pitched and pitiful sound, and proceeded to fall sideways onto the rock.
"It looks edible," Valeria observed, materializing beside them.
"We are not eating it!" Renn stepped forward instinctively.
"Why not?" Lysandra frowned. "It's clearly defective. Look at it. It can't even stand up."
As if to prove her point, the chick tried to get up. Its skinny little legs trembled with the effort. It managed to stay upright for approximately half a second before falling again, this time face-first.
"Peep," it complained, its voice muffled by the rock.
"That was pathetic," Valeria said.
"It was adorable," Renn corrected.
"It was pathetically adorable," Lysandra conceded. "Which doesn't change the fact that you just wasted your MVP reward on... that."
Renn approached the chick and picked it up carefully. The creature fit perfectly in his palm, feeling almost weightless, and it trembled slightly. Its scorched feathers were warm to the touch.
"Hey," Renn murmured. "It's okay. I'm not going to let them cook you."
The chick looked at him with huge, watery eyes.
"Peep?"
"No, seriously. You're safe."
"Peep."
"Yes, I promise."
Lysandra watched the exchange with an expression that mixed incredulidad and something that might have been disgust.
"Are you talking to it?"
"He seems to understand."
"It's a chicken, Renn. Chickens don't understand promises."
"Peep," the chick protested, turning its little head toward Lysandra with what looked like indignation.
"See?" Renn said. "He got offended."
"He didn't get offended. It's a basic neurological reflex."
"He got offended."
Valeria took a step forward, tilting her head as she studied the creature.
"Lord Substitute, with all due respect, that animal has no combat value. Its wings are too small for flight. Its body mass is insufficient for any type of physical attack. And its only vocalization so far has been variations of 'peep'."
"And?"
"And the grimoire you rejected was worth a lot, whereas that chicken is worth... ", Valeria calculated mentally, "... perhaps three points if we season it correctly."
"We are not seasoning it."
"It is an option that must remain on the table."
"Peep," the chick said, snuggling deeper into Renn's palm.
Lysandra sighed, a dramatic sound that was probably heard in neighboring dimensions, and rubbed her temples.
"Renn, I need you to understand the situation. You have a few days before the expulsion from the Alliance becomes effective. You have limited resources. You have a swampy territory with no strategic value. And now, you have a useless chicken that will need food, care, and attention."
"You were a stray cat when I found you too," Renn pointed out.
The silence that followed was glacial.
Lysandra narrowed her eyes.
"Excuse me?"
"When I found you, you were a fat cat lying in an alley eating trash."
"It was trash tuna! Tuna!" Lysandra stepped toward him, her feline ears bristling with agitation. "And I wasn't fat! I was... robust! There was dignity in my robustness!"
Renn held the chick in front of him, looking it directly in the eyes.
"Look, little guy. I don't know what you are or why you came out of the egg looking like you got hit by a car. But I chose you. And that means you're part of the team now."
"Peep," the chick replied.
"Exactly."
"He didn't say anything coherent," Lysandra noted.
"He said he agrees."
"Do you speak chicken now?"
"I'm learning."
The discussion continued inside the tent.
Lysandra had transformed back into her full humanoid form, without the ears this time, and was sitting on the only available stool with the posture of a queen on her throne. Valeria remained standing by the entrance, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
Renn was sitting on the floor with the chick in his lap. The creature hadn't stopped trembling since it hatched, and its attempts to stand had resulted in a series of increasingly pathetic falls.
"He needs to eat," Renn said. "He's probably hungry."
"Egg-born newborns can usually survive twenty-four hours on residual yolk nutrients," Valeria informed him. "But yes, eventually he will require sustenance."
Renn searched his supplies. He found a water canteen and held it near the chick's beak.
The creature looked at it. It smelled the water. And it turned its head away with a flick of disdain that was eerily similar to Lysandra's gestures.
"You don't want water?"
"Peep."
"It's clean water. Filtered and everything."
"Peep."
Renn tried a piece of dry bread from his emergency rations. The chick looked at him as if he had personally insulted it.
"What's wrong with the bread?"
"Peep," the chick replied, and there was venom in that sound.
Lysandra, watching from her stool, let out a short laugh.
"He has standards. That's... unexpected."
"Standards? He's a chick. Chicks eat worms."
"Apparently, this one doesn't."
Renn reviewed his options. Dry rations: rejected. Water: rejected. A pack of stale crackers: he didn't even deign to sniff them.
Then his eyes fell on the box in the corner. The box containing Lysandra's special supply. The imported premium tuna that cost a small fortune.
"No," Lysandra said, reading his expression.
"I haven't even said anything."
"You are looking at MY tuna."
"I just want to try..."
"It's MY tuna, Renn. The premium kind. The one you promised me for helping in the Dungeon."
"If he doesn't eat, he could die."
"Then he will die with dignity, not with MY tuna in his stomach."
Renn stared at her. Lysandra stared back. The chick, apparently sensing the tension, emitted the most pitiful and tiny "peep" Renn had ever heard in his life.
"...Dammit," Lysandra muttered. "Fine. ONE can. And you owe me three more."
Renn was already opening the box before she finished the sentence.
The aroma of premium tuna filled the tent instantly. It was a rich, oceanic smell, completely out of place in a stagnant swamp.
The chick sat up. For the first time since its birth, it managed to stay on its feet without falling. Its amber eyes fixed on the open can with an intensity Renn had only seen in predators.
"Well," Renn said, taking a bit of tuna with his fingers. "Let's see if this..."
He didn't finish the sentence. The chick lunged forward with a speed that completely contradicted its pathetic appearance. Its little legs, which could barely hold it up a minute ago, propelled it like a small black missile directly toward Renn's hand.
And it started eating.
The chick devoured the tuna with a voracity that bordered on disturbing. Its beak moved so fast it was a blur, and it made small sounds of satisfaction between bites.
"Wow," Renn said.
"That was my favorite tuna," Lysandra whispered in a funeral tone.
"He eats faster than you do," Valeria observed.
"That's not true!"
"Your Highness, I saw you consume tuna yesterday. This specimen is definitely more efficient."
The chick finished the contents of Renn's hand and looked toward the can expectantly. It peeped once, a demanding sound this time, not a pitiful one, and walked unsteadily but decisively toward the source.
"Oh no," Lysandra said. "No. That is MY..."
The chick stuck its head into the can. The sounds that followed were indescribable.
When it finally emerged, its beak was covered in tuna oil and its tiny stomach had visibly expanded. It looked like a piece of black cotton with legs that had swallowed a marble.
"Peep," it said with absolute satisfaction.
And it fell onto its back, remaining belly up with its stomach distended toward the sky. Renn couldn't help it. He laughed.
"What's so funny?" Lysandra demanded. "He just consumed three hundred resource points in premium tuna."
"Look at him." Renn pointed at the chick, who lay motionless except for his satisfied breathing. "He's ridiculous."
"He's a waste of resources."
"He's adorable."
"The two things are not mutually exclusive!"
Renn picked up the chick carefully, holding it belly up. The creature didn't protest; in fact, it seemed perfectly content in that position. Its little amber eyes were half-closed, and a string of tuna oil dripped from its beak.
Without thinking much, Renn began to gently scratch the chick's belly. The effect was instant. The chick melted. Its legs stretched out. Its head fell back. And from its throat emerged...
A purr.
Low, continuous, and completely improper for a bird.
"Is he purring?" Valeria asked, leaning in to look closer.
"It seems so."
"Chickens don't purr."
"This one does."
Lysandra approached, her irritation momentarily replaced by scientific curiosity.
"That's not a normal purr. Listen to the frequency."
Renn listened. Beneath the purr, there was something else. A subtle crackle. And the chick's feathers had begun to glow dimly. Lines of orange light ran through them like veins of fire.
"He's... glowing," Renn observed.
"He's channeling energy," Lysandra corrected, her eyes narrowing with renewed interest. "The physical stimulation is activating... something. Valeria, do you see the patterns?"
"Affirmative. The energy lines are consistent with fire magic, but the signature is... unusual. Non-destructive."
"Non-destructive?"
"Normal fire burns. This...", Valeria extended a hand near the chick, without touching it, "...warms. There is a fundamental difference in the intent."
Renn looked at the chick in his hands. The creature had stopped purring and was now watching him with those huge amber eyes. There was intelligence there.
"What are you?" Renn asked in a low voice.
The chick peeped. And Renn's bracelet vibrated.
[CREATURE SUCCESSFULLY BONDED]
[Species: Ash Phoenix (Infant)] [Rank: ??? (Unclassified)] [Level: 1] [Power Points: 15] [Skills: Locked until maturity] [Status: Healthy / Satisfied] [Name: ???]
"Ash Phoenix," Renn read aloud.
Lysandra inhaled sharply.
"Ash Phoenix?" she repeated, and for the first time since Renn had met her, there was genuine surprise in her voice. "Are you sure?"
"That's what the system says."
"That is...", Lysandra searched for the word, "...unlikely. Ash Phoenixes are extinct. Or so we thought."
"Apparently not."
"Valeria." Lysandra turned to her bodyguard. "When was the last confirmed record of an Ash Phoenix?"
"Approximately three thousand years ago, Your Highness. The last known colony was destroyed during the Ascension Wars. It was assumed the species had perished."
"And now one appears in a Core Chest from an E-rank Dungeon." Lysandra looked at the chick with new eyes. "The odds of this are astronomical."
"Is it good or bad?" Renn asked.
"It depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you can keep it alive." Lysandra sat back down, but her posture had changed. It was no longer disdain; it was evaluation. "Ash Phoenixes were known as the 'Flame that Heals'. Their fire repairs. In their maturity, they could heal wounds that would otherwise be fatal."
Renn looked at the scorched chick in his hands.
"This little guy?"
"Eventually. If he survives. If he matures correctly. If he doesn't die of malnutrition because someone ate all his tuna..." A pause. "Oh, wait. That was ME who lost the tuna."
"Technically, he ate it."
"BECAUSE YOU GAVE IT TO HIM!"
The chick, apparently annoyed by the noise, peeped with irritation and hid its head under its wing.
"He needs a name," Renn said, ignoring Lysandra's tantrum.
"Dinner," the princess suggested.
"No."
"Food Emergency," Valeria offered.
"Neither of those."
"Tuna Thief," Lysandra continued. "Error of Judgment. Questionable Decision."
"Ember," Renn said.
The chick pulled its head out from under its wing.
"Peep," it said.
"Ember?" Lysandra wrinkled her nose. "Seriously? Isn't that a bit... obvious?"
"He's a phoenix. He glows with fire. Ember fits."
"It's like calling a dog 'Doggy'."
"He's my pet. I choose the name."
"He's not your pet, he's your troop."
"My summoned troop that can't walk without falling over."
"Peep," Ember said, and there was indignation in the sound.
"No offense, little guy."
"Peep."
"Yes, I know, but it's true."
Lysandra watched them with an expression that oscillated between exasperation and something that might have been very, very buried affection.
"Valeria."
"Your Highness?"
"Search the Celestial Market for care guides for juvenile Phoenixes. We will need to know feeding requirements, optimal habitat, and growth stages."
"Are you accepting the situation?"
"I'm being practical." Lysandra crossed her legs with studied elegance. "If we're going to have a useless fire chicken on the team, at least let it be a well-cared-for fire chicken."
"Thank you," Renn said, sincerely.
"Don't thank me. You owe me tuna. Lots of tuna."
"I'll get you more."
"The premium kind. Not that cheap stuff they sell in the regular market."
"The premium kind."
Lysandra nodded, apparently satisfied, and transformed into her feline form. The orange cat jumped onto Renn's cot, circled three times, and lay down in the exact center with her eyes closed.
"Mrow," she said, which probably meant "don't bother me for the next few hours."
Valeria disappeared through the tent entrance, presumably to perform the search Lysandra had ordered.
And Renn sat on the floor of his tent in the middle of a swamp, holding a baby phoenix that was probably extinct, listening to the snoring of a celestial princess disguised as a fat cat.
He looked at Ember. Ember looked at him.
"We have a few days to move," Renn said quietly. "I'm at level twelve. Lysandra could destroy a city but prefers to sleep. And Valeria probably has a list of all the ways we could die."
"Peep," Ember said.
"Yeah, that pretty much sums up the situation."
"Peep."
"No, I don't really have a plan."
"Peep."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Ember closed his eyes and snuggled into his palm, his small body radiating a comforting heat. In seconds, he was asleep.
Renn sighed, leaning back against the tent wall.
Level twelve, he thought. A priceless baby phoenix. Two celestial bodyguards. And absolutely no idea what to do next.
He looked up at the damp-stained canvas ceiling.
Well. I've been in worse situations.
A pause.
... No. No, I haven't. This is probably the strangest one.
On the cot, Lysandra purred in her sleep. In his hand, Ember let out a small snore that was half peep, half crackle of flames. And outside, the swamp remained a swamp: damp, smelly, and completely indifferent to the existential dramas of its inhabitants.
But before he could close his eyes, his bracelet vibrated.
[MESSAGE RECEIVED] [Sender: Lily Thornwhisper]
Renn opened the message with a gesture.
"Renn: How are you? The Dungeon report was a mess, but we made it out okay. Varic asked me about you three times. I think he wants to recruit you (or your 'consultants'). I'll write when I can. Take care. L."
"P.S. The kiss wasn't an accident. In case you were wondering."
Renn reread the last line four times.
"Peep," Ember murmured in his sleep, as if commenting.
"Shut up," Renn whispered, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I didn't say anything."
He stared at the message for a long moment. He should reply. Say something smart, or funny, or at least coherent. His fingers hovered over the bracelet.
He wrote: "The egg hatched." He deleted it. He wrote: "Thanks for the kiss." He deleted it immediately. He wrote: "Lily, I also..." He deleted it with more force than necessary.
Finally, after five minutes of literary agony, he sent:
"Lily: I'm moving. The egg hatched. It's a chicken. A very dramatic chicken. I'll tell you when we see each other. Take care. R."
It was terrible. It was evasive. It was the best he could do with his brain running on minimum power. He closed the message before he could regret it and looked at Ember, who was still asleep in his palm.
"You know what?" he told the unconscious phoenix. "I can kill wolves. I can survive dungeons. But writing to a girl I like is apparently beyond my capabilities."
Ember didn't respond.
"Thanks for the support."
Lysandra, from the cot, emitted a particularly loud snore that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"You're not helping either," Renn told her.
"Mrrrow," the cat replied without opening her eyes.
Renn sighed deeply.
Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow we start planning. Today... today we're just going to rest and not think about clumsy messages.
It was a good plan. It was the only plan he had.
And with that, Renn Blackwood—Lord Substitute of the Throne of Eternal Shadows, owner of a narcoleptic phoenix, writer of pathetic messages, and probably the most confused person in the Infinite World—fell asleep.
The swamp didn't comment. The mosquitoes, however, took the opportunity.