We ate in silence for a few moments, the weight of unspoken possibilities hanging between us. Another raptor server approached, refilling our water glasses with silent efficiency.

  "The dog..." Krysanthea began, then corrected herself. "Nessy. She found you across realities. Formed this... connection with you." Her eyes studied me intently as she carefully speared a piece of venison. "How did she do it?"

  The question seemed casual, but I sensed the calculation beneath it.

  "She followed my scent," I replied. "Her nose led her to me."

  "Just her nose?" Krysanthea pressed, her feathered crest rising slightly with interest. "Or was there something more? Something... deeper?"

  I considered the question, remembering how Nessy had described the pull she felt, the certainty that led her across broken landscapes and shattered realities to find me.

  "She believes we have a pack bond," I explained. "Something that transcends ordinary connections. Something that helped her find me even after death, across dimensions."

  Krysanthea's amber eyes gleamed with sudden intensity. "A connection that persisted beyond death," she repeated, her voice dropping lower. "Beyond the boundary of the infinite divide..."

  "Yep," I confirmed, watching as something calculated flickered behind her eyes.

  "And now," she continued, her clawed fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass, "that connection manifests how? Through a tree made of glass and concrete? Through these... quests the System assigns you?"

  "Partly," I said, choosing my words carefully. "But it's more than that. It's a sense of... recognition. Of belonging. Even though I'm not her Alec, something in me resonates with something in her. Sometimes… I seem to recall things from a life I never had.”

  Krysanthea's expression shifted subtly, her feathers settling as she absorbed this information. "Curious," she murmured. "And do you think such connections are... created? Are they deliberately formed?"

  “Just verbial declarations, I guess?” I shrugged. “You did give us a Quest somehow.”

  The question's true purpose suddenly clicked into place after my mouth answered it. "You want to know if you could establish a similar connection to me," I said, the realization sinking in.

  She didn't deny it. "If such connections can bridge death and dimensional boundaries," she said coolly, "they would be valuable tools for understanding and potentially navigating the madness Systemfall produces.”

  "Is that all they would be to you?" I asked. "Tools?"

  Something flickered in her amber eyes – vulnerability, perhaps, or frustration at being so easily read. "Not all connections need be emotional entanglements," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. "Some can be pragmatic alliances. Mutually beneficial arrangements."

  "And that's what you're proposing?"

  "I'm proposing nothing," she countered. "Merely exploring possibilities. Understanding… mechanisms."

  But I could see it now–the longing beneath her clinical interest. She wanted what Nessy had. Not just for strategic advantage, but because she had lost her Alec too, had mourned him, had accepted his absence as permanent–only to see him return wearing my face.

  "Building connections takes time," I said. "Trust. Shared experiences."

  "Time is a luxury we may not have," she replied, her scaled fingers tightening slightly around her wine glass. "The slimes are multiplying. The boundary between Ferguson and the shit beyond it grows thinner each day. Dead things are blooming at random.

  "Even so," I insisted, "some things can't be rushed or engineered. They have to develop naturally."

  "Like your bond with the husky?" she asked, a hint of something sharp entering her voice. “A dog who dropped herself on your lap three days ago and now refuses to let go of you?”

  I frowned. She wasn't wrong. It hasn't been that long.

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  She studied me for a long moment, her predator's eyes unblinking. "And what of your choice?" she finally asked. "Did you choose your bond with her? Or was it thrust upon you by circumstance, by killing the conceptoid and then her determination to claim you as her own?"

  The question struck uncomfortably close to thoughts I'd been avoiding. Had I chosen Nessy, or had she simply claimed me? Was my growing attachment to her genuine, or merely a response to her unwavering devotion?

  "Choice always matters… Especially when it comes to who we align ourselves with," Krysanthea concluded, her amber eyes reflecting the candlelight like twin flames in the growing darkness. “Tell me more about the System messages.”

  I did, explaining how in our pack, I was the one who could summon up Stats and had the skill of “Pack Leader”. Kristi nodded, absorbing my words, asking more questions about the conceptoid murder event.

  In due time, our meal and the wine was finished.

  “Is your assessment done then?” I asked standing up. “Do I pass?”

  “Mmmmm… not yet. There's someone I'd like you to meet," Krysanthea announced as our plates were cleared away, her voice carrying a subtle shift in tone—something formal creeping in at the edges.

  "Who?" I asked, a thread of wariness winding through me.

  "My family," she replied simply, rising from her chair with the preternatural grace of an ancient predator. "The rest of them. They're upstairs."

  “Wait,” I froze. “How am I supposed to explain…”

  “Just be yourself,” she said. “Be Alec. I do suggest not ranting about… other dimensions. That might confuse them.”

  The restaurant's second floor revealed itself as we ascended a grand staircase of polished cherry wood. Unlike the public dining area below, this space carried the unmistakable air of private power—dark wood paneling, leather-bound books lining built-in shelves, and large windows offering commanding views of Ferguson's main street.

  The room was filled with a multitude of raptors, every head snapping to my direction like a hungry pack.

  At the center of it all, behind an imposing mahogany desk, sat an older male raptor whose presence dominated the room without effort. His scales had dulled slightly with age, taking on deeper, forest-green hues, but his eyes held the same predatory intensity as Krysanthea's. He wore his authority like a second skin—comfortable, unquestioned.

  "Lord Marshall Strand," Krysanthea said with a bow, "I present Alec Foster, recently... returned to Ferguson."

  The careful choice of words wasn't lost on me. She hadn't lied, exactly, but had crafted a truth that could be interpreted according to the listener's expectations. The technical honesty of a clever predator laying a verbal trap.

  The older raptor's orange eyes followed me with deep, sharp evaluation. He rose slowly, his movements deliberate, measured—a lifetime of controlled power evident in every gesture.

  "Ah! Mr. Foster," he breathed, my name emerging with a weight I wasn't prepared for. "The prodigal returns to us!"

  The room fell silent, a dozen pairs of raptor eyes turning toward me with expressions ranging from curiosity to naked relief. In their collective gaze, I felt the weight of expectations I couldn't possibly fulfill, the burden of being mistaken for someone else.

  "My boy," the elder Strand said, standing from his seat and approaching me with outstretched hands. "Your disappearance caused us great concern. We feared the worst."

  His scaled hands closed around my shoulders. Up close, I could see the web of fine lines around his eyes.

  "Ferguson has suffered many losses," he continued, his voice carrying the practiced resonance of someone accustomed to public speaking. "To have one of our own return... It gives great hope to everyone!"

  Words of correction died in my throat as smaller raptors—younger cousins, perhaps, or siblings of Krysanthea—crowded closer, their feathered crests rising with excitement, clawed hands reaching to touch my shoulders, my arms. Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of welcome and relief:

  "We thought the cartel had gotten you—" "Kristi was beside herself—" "Your grandfather would be so proud—" "When did you get back?" "Where have you been?" “What was it like out there past the highway?”

  They moved around me in a coordinated dance, each taking a far too quick to approach, to sniff, to touch—a pack greeting their returned member.

  I shot a questioning glance at Krysanthea, who stood slightly apart, watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, and in them I caught something that might have been an apology—or maybe calculation.

  "The town council will want to hear of your return," the Lord Marshall declared, returning to his desk with the satisfied air of someone crossing an item off a long list of concerns. "We've maintained stability despite the challenges beyond our borders, but having you back will bolster morale significantly."

  “I’m deputizing Alec to help me with forest… maintenance,” Kristi said. “I had his grandfather’s old trailer towed to a camping spot near the ranger station.”

  “A wonderful idea,” the old raptor nodded with a smile. “Ah, young love. I do hope you'll take good care of my eldest!”

  Expectations. There were expectations in his words belonging to the other me, a noose of them which I could not escape.

  The smaller raptors continued their examination, their scaled fingers more insistent now, their sniffing more pronounced. One—a female in her teens, judging by her brighter scales and smaller stature with slightly blue tinted eyes—pressed her snout directly against my neck, inhaling deeply.

  "He smells... different," she announced. "Like Systemfall bloom."

  A momentary hush fell over the room.

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