The cold pierced through Dane's body as dawn crept over the peaks. The air up here was thin, sharp like broken glass, and each breath burned in his throat. He sat cross-legged at the edge of a snow-dusted ledge, eyes closed, and turned his focus inward.

  Deep within his soulspace, the molten core of his Dragon essence pulsed like a banked forge. Power thrummed there, alive and waiting, but it wasn't his mana. His own channels felt like fragile rivers beside it. They were like glass tubes on the verge of cracking. He recalled what he and Draka had done to rebuild those channels; they placed the purifying shards back where they belonged and engaged in careful healing and training afterward. If he tried to channel Dragon essence through those pathways now, he would undo all their efforts.

  He couldn't do it. The first fight with the monster had been nearly overwhelming, and he understood that he didn't have enough strength to defeat it again.

  Instead, Dane visualized the Beastform, an enormous, primal shape that lurked beneath his skin, waiting for his command. He focused on inviting the essence to surge within him, stitching itself into sinew and bone instead of flowing through his mana lines.

  The result was immediate and intense. His muscles convulsed, and his spine arched forward. A sharp pain coursed along his shoulder blades, not from tearing, but from something pushing out from inside him. A hiss escaped through his clenched teeth. When the Dragon first infused him with essence, his Beastform had taken on some of the characteristics of the Dragon race. Now, he sensed that he could push it even further. If he ever gathered enough Dragon Essence, he felt confident that he could completely transform into the Golden Beast.

  Last night, he had dreams that felt like they were trying to tell him something, so he paid attention. In one of the dreams, he was able to control the Beastform. He selectively accepted only the parts he needed and found a way to extend the 15-minute limit.

  He attempted to summon only his wings. Black leather unfurled from his back; the wings felt disproportionately large compared to the rest of his body, which remained the size of a normal chronite. His wings were far too big. His arms twisted as claws pushed out from his fingertips, and his jaw began to lengthen. He fought against the transformation with a growl. Just the wings. Not the whole damn beast.

  The wings thrashed once before dissolving into ash, and the bone was drawn back into him.

  Dane slumped, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his skin despite the cold. Partial transformation was more complicated than a full transformation. The Beastform had a will of its own, and it wanted to take over completely. Asking for just the wings was like requesting a storm to give you only the lightning and not the thunder.

  "Still flopping around?" Zeph landed lightly on the ledge beside him, his feathers catching the dawn light. His amber eyes glowed with a mix of mischief and scorn.

  "Working on it," Dane muttered, wiping his brow.

  "You look like a child trying to hold in his pee," Zeph grinned, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Maybe you should let the beast out. At least then you'd be interesting to fight."

  They sparred by midmorning. The agreement remained the same: no mana, no spells. They would rely solely on their physical abilities and the weapons they carried.

  Dane moved differently now. Training with Draka had instilled new patterns into his movements that complemented his natural instincts. He stepped with precision, shifted his weight skillfully, and coiled like a predator preparing to spring. Zeph's speed remained blistering, with his wings granting him angles that no human could match, but Dane was now interpreting his movements better.

  By the third round, Dane had swept Zeph's legs from under him and pressed the edge of his blade against the birdman's throat. Zeph lay there, his chest heaving and wings half-spread. His eyes narrowed.

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  "Again," he hissed.

  Dane offered him a hand to help him up, but Zeph slapped it away.

  The next match ended the same way. As did the one after that.

  Zeph's frustration boiled over. With a snarl, he drew on his mana, his feathers ruffling with static, and unleashed a crackling arrow of golden light. It struck Dane square in the chest.

  Smoke curled off his skin. Pain landed deep, but then the wings burst free, scales rippling along his back, and he stood firm. He let the strike wash over him and took a single step forward, his eyes burning with rage that hid sorrow.

  "Next time you try that," Dane said, voice low and cold, "you'd better finish it. Because if you aim to kill me, Zeph, I will put you down."

  For once, Zeph had no quick retort. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes darting to the lingering trace of wings before they folded back into nothingness.

  The mountain wasn't merciful that day. By late afternoon, the two stumbled into a valley throat littered with jagged stone spires. That was where they heard it: low, guttural voices, rough but… intelligent.

  Shapes emerged from the rocks. A dozen hulking beasts, wolf-like gnolls that walked upright, their hides twisted with patches of stone and fur. Their eyes gleamed with cunning, and their lips curled back as they muttered in a tongue that wasn't quite animal.

  Dane understood enough.

  They wanted Zeph.

  Dane stepped forward, voice rolling deep, tapping the Beastform not to transform, but to speak. A primal resonance filled his throat. The pack froze, ears flicking. He spoke of strength, of meat earned, of prey and predator, both deserving respect.

  Most of them bowed their heads, growling low, cowed. But one stepped forward. Larger than the rest and smarter. A jagged scar carved across its snout.

  The alpha wanted blood, and the rest of the pack gathered around, creating a dueling circle.

  Dane once more tried to communicate to ask the leader if this was really what he wanted. A snarl was the only reply the leader gave.

  'I guess the time for talk is done. I hope that the rest don't want to jump in' He thought. Dane looked at Zeph and noticed that he was smiling like nothing could touch him.

  The Megaladon tooth dagger was slippery in his palm, the sweat making him feel like the blade would wrench free from his grip at any moment. He never had this problem when he was ambushed and not expecting a fight. But when it was a match, he always got nervous. The tightness in his chest. The way his breath felt forced, nothing he did would relieve it.

  The monster made the first move and lunged at Dane. He dodged to the left, barely rolling out of the way of snapping jaws. He felt the wind rush past his head as Zeph landed a fly talon on the gnoll.

  The beast let out a roar, and Dane felt something bubble up next to his anxiety. It was fear.

  'Does this cocksucker have a fear effect?' Dane thought.

  Once he knew that it was a skill, he felt something else stir. His Beastform demanded to know what was trying to dominate it. Dane couldn't hold it back, and he transformed into his new Dragon-Demon Beastform. He wanted to stop, no, he needed to stop. But he gave in to the monster; he needed to show this puppy what it had messed with.

  Dane seized its throat, slammed it into the rocks, and roared. The sound shook the spires. The alpha went still. The rest of the pack slunk back into the shadows, defeated without another word.

  Breathing hard, Dane felt it, the surge of power, the System's voice whispering in his bones. His rank climbed, restored to C. His muscles hummed with new vitality.

  Zeph watched him, something sharp and wounded in his eyes. That night, as they made camp, the birdman broke the silence.

  "You think you're above me now?"

  "I don't think," Dane said. "I know."

  The look of disbelief was sweeter than honey. Dane knew that he should stop, but something deep inside of him refused to. This Eagle needed to understand.

  "You think that just because you are descended from some god that the world should bow to you? I have never had anything handed to me; every ounce of power that I have is earned. I am better than you because I work harder, train harder, it's not something a pampered royal could understand."

  Zeph's hand tightened into a feathered fist. "Then fight me. Tomorrow. No excuses. One of us walks away the better. The other..."

  "...learns his place," Dane finished for him, calm as still water.

  He leaned back on his bedroll, and black smoke curled off of him. "I'll kick your ass in the morning. You take first watch."

  The fire crackled between them. Zeph pulled out a quill and parchment, and he began to write.