Chapter 3
Sir Dorian Lionsreach first became aware that the situation had worsened when three different people accused him of the same thing in three different ways.
The first was a baker.
"You summoned it," she said, arms folded, flour dusting her sleeves like snow. "I saw the glow."
Dorian blinked. "I do not summon poultry."
The second was a mage.
"It's bound," the mage insisted, adjusting his spectacles with shaking fingers. "There's residue. Old residue. Guild-hall-level residue."
Dorian frowned. "That's not helpful."
The third was a child.
"My dad says you made it," the child announced proudly. "With magic."
Dorian knelt to the child's level. "Did I?"
The child nodded. "He says you're bad at spells."
Dorian stood up again. "Rude."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian did not look at it.
They were in the guild hall—specifically, the main chamber that had once hosted heroic announcements, battle briefings, and Rowan Valebright's extremely effective silences. Now it hosted an informal tribunal composed entirely of people who were tired.
Very tired.
The chicken stood in the center of the room.
It had not been placed there.
It had arrived.
Dorian leaned casually against a table, doing his best to project the calm confidence of a man who absolutely understood what was happening.
"I want to be very clear," he said, addressing the room at large. "The chicken is not my responsibility."
The chicken clucked.
A clerk raised her hand. "Sir Dorian, it followed you here."
"That proves nothing."
"It followed you from the market."
"Coincidence."
"It waited outside your door."
Dorian paused.
"...It has excellent patience," he said finally.
The mage scribbled furiously in a notebook. "Fascinating."
The baker narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."
"I'm improvising," Dorian corrected.
The chicken took three steps forward.
Dorian stiffened.
"Now, now," he said gently. "Personal space."
The chicken ignored him.
A faint shimmer rippled around its feet.
The mage gasped. "Did you see that?"
Dorian did not answer.
He did not move.
He was suddenly very aware of Rowan's voice in his head.
Do not encourage anomalies.
Dorian cleared his throat.
"Perhaps," he said loudly, "we should discuss why everyone thinks this is my fault."
The baker jabbed a finger at him. "Because you were there when it started."
"That is circumstantial."
"You were holding a glowing object."
"That was a mug."
"Why was it glowing?"
"...Enchantment?"
The mage's pen snapped. "You enchanted a mug."
"For warmth," Dorian said defensively. "It was chilly."
The child raised his hand again. "My dad says you shouldn't do that."
Dorian sighed. "Your dad is wise beyond his years."
The chicken hopped onto the table.
Several people screamed.
One person applauded.
Dorian closed his eyes.
"Alright," he said. "New approach."
He opened his eyes and crouched, lowering himself until he was eye level with the chicken.
"Hello," Dorian said.
The chicken stared back.
"Are you," Dorian continued carefully, "here for a reason?"
The chicken blinked.
Clucked once.
Dorian nodded. "I see."
The clerk whispered, "What did it say?"
"It was ambiguous," Dorian replied.
The mage leaned forward eagerly. "Sir Dorian, if this creature is semi-sapient, we need to establish communication parameters."
Dorian stood abruptly. "No."
"No?" the mage echoed.
"No parameters," Dorian said firmly. "No tests. No rituals."
The baker crossed her arms. "So we're just letting it stay?"
Dorian hesitated.
"Well," he said slowly, "it hasn't hurt anyone."
The chicken pecked the table.
The table smoked.
"...Yet," Dorian added.
The clerk cleared her throat. "Sir Dorian, Guild Master Valebright specifically banned experimental entities in the hall."
Dorian winced. "In my defense, this entity is not experimental."
The clerk stared. "Then what is it?"
Dorian opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"...Persistent."
The chicken fluttered its wings once.
The lights flickered.
The mage fainted.
Dorian rubbed his temples. "This is escalating faster than expected."
A guard burst into the room. "Sir Dorian! There's a crowd outside!"
"Of course there is," Dorian muttered.
He straightened and strode toward the doors, gesturing for calm.
"Everyone remain calm," he said. "This is under control."
The doors opened.
The courtyard beyond was packed.
People whispered.
Pointed.
Speculated.
Someone shouted, "Is it true?"
Dorian squinted. "Is what true?"
"That you summoned a familiar!"
"No."
"That it's cursed!"
"No."
"That it's watching us!"
The chicken clucked behind him.
Dorian sighed. "I didn't say no to that one."
Murmurs spread.
A scholar pushed forward. "Sir Dorian, is it a remnant of a summoning ritual?"
"No."
"A divine messenger?"
"No."
"A punishment?"
"...Debatable."
The scholar blinked. "Pardon?"
Dorian smiled. "Wrong answer. Ignore that."
The chicken stepped into the sunlight.
A hush fell.
It stood there, perfectly ordinary except for the faint shimmer that refused to stop following it like a rumor.
Dorian glanced down at it.
"You're enjoying this," he accused quietly.
The chicken did not deny it.
A woman whispered, "What does it want?"
Dorian considered the question seriously.
"Honestly?" he said. "Attention."
The chicken clucked.
The crowd gasped.
The baker groaned. "I knew it."
Dorian raised his hands. "Before we panic—again—I would like to remind everyone that nothing catastrophic has happened."
The chicken pecked the stone.
A crack spiderwebbed outward.
"...Recently," Dorian amended.
The guard swallowed. "Sir... what do we do?"
Dorian looked at the chicken.
The chicken looked back.
Somewhere, a breeze stirred banners that had no reason to move.
Dorian smiled thinly.
"Well," he said, "we could attempt to remove it."
The chicken's eyes glowed faintly.
"Nope," Dorian said immediately. "Or we could... manage expectations."
The scholar frowned. "Meaning?"
Dorian clasped his hands behind his back.
"We accept," he said, "that the chicken exists."
The crowd stared.
"We accept," Dorian continued, "that it does not wish us harm."
The chicken clucked.
"And we accept," Dorian finished, "that asking questions will only make things worse."
The silence stretched.
Then, somehow, people nodded.
The baker sighed. "Fine."
The clerk muttered, "I'm updating the incident log."
The scholar scribbled furiously.
The child smiled. "Can I name it?"
"No," Dorian said immediately.
The chicken hopped closer to him.
Dorian felt a chill.
"...Absolutely not," he repeated.
The chicken stared.
Dorian stared back.
"...We will discuss boundaries later," Dorian muttered.
Somewhere above them, thunder rumbled—despite a clear sky.
Dorian straightened.
"Well," he said briskly, "that's settled."
No one believed him.
Least of all the chicken.
By nightfall, the chicken had been assigned a watch.
This was not because it required protection.
It was because no one trusted it to remain unsupervised.
Dorian leaned against a pillar at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, watching the rotation of guards who had been tasked with "observing" the chicken. Each took the duty seriously for about ten minutes before becoming deeply uncomfortable and switching places with someone else.
The chicken sat in the center of a chalk circle.
The circle had been drawn by a mage.
The mage was now insisting it was purely symbolic.
"It's not binding," the mage said quickly, sweat beading at his temples. "Just... reassuring."
The chicken pecked the chalk.
The chalk line evaporated.
The mage fainted again.
Dorian sighed. "We're going to run out of mages at this rate."
A clerk approached, clutching a growing stack of parchment. "Sir Dorian, we've received formal inquiries."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"From the city council. The arcane college. Two temples. And a bakery."
"The bakery again?"
"They're persistent."
Dorian accepted the papers, scanning the titles.
RE: ANOMALOUS AVIAN ENTITY
REQUEST FOR OBSERVATION PERMIT
NOTICE OF POTENTIAL DIVINE INTERFERENCE
He winced.
"This is escalating faster than I anticipated."
Behind him, the chicken clucked.
"Yes, yes," Dorian muttered. "You're very impressive."
The clerk hesitated. "Sir... do we have an official explanation?"
Dorian handed the papers back. "We do not."
She swallowed. "Should we... invent one?"
Dorian considered this.
"That's dangerous," he said. "If you invent one explanation, people will test it."
She nodded slowly. "And if we don't?"
"They'll invent several," Dorian replied. "Which is safer."
Across the courtyard, a group of scholars argued in hushed but intense voices.
"I'm telling you, it's residual summoning energy," one insisted.
"No," another snapped. "It's a divine familiar."
A third shook his head. "No feathers are that symmetrical."
Dorian watched them fondly. "Look at that," he said. "Community engagement."
A guard approached, helmet tucked under his arm. "Sir Dorian... it moved."
Dorian glanced at the chicken.
It had shifted approximately three inches.
"...Noted," Dorian said. "Has it threatened anyone?"
"No."
"Has it looked at anyone in a way that felt judgmental?"
The guard hesitated. "...Yes."
Dorian nodded. "That tracks."
A woman stepped forward, clutching a prayer charm. "Sir Knight, my grandmother says it's an omen."
Dorian smiled politely. "Of what?"
She frowned. "She didn't specify. She just stopped talking and lit three candles."
"Reasonable," Dorian said.
A child darted forward before anyone could stop him and dropped a crumb of bread inside the circle.
The chicken immediately ate it.
The lights flickered.
The crowd gasped.
Dorian clapped once, sharply. "No feeding."
The child pouted. "But it's hungry."
"So are we all," Dorian replied. "Life is about restraint."
The chicken stared at him.
Dorian stared back.
"...You are not exempt," he added.
A clerk cleared her throat loudly. "Sir Dorian, the incident log requires categorization."
Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are our options?"
She read from the ledger. "Magical anomaly. Divine interference. Environmental hazard. Livestock incident."
Dorian looked at the chicken.
The chicken looked at him.
"...Livestock," Dorian said.
The clerk hesitated. "Sir... respectfully... it cracked stone."
"So do goats," Dorian replied. "Emotionally."
The clerk wrote it down.
A runner approached at a sprint. "Sir Dorian! Message from the west gate!"
Dorian took the scroll, broke the seal, and read quickly.
His smile faded.
"...Interesting," he murmured.
"What is it?" the clerk asked.
"Rumors," Dorian said. "Apparently, word has spread."
"About the chicken?"
"About me," Dorian corrected.
He read aloud:
Sir Dorian Lionsreach has summoned a creature beyond classification.
Some say it follows him.
Some say it answers only to him.
Some say he cannot control it.
Dorian lowered the scroll.
"Well," he said lightly, "that last one is rude."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian shot it a look. "Don't encourage them."
The crowd shifted uneasily as the night deepened. Lanterns were lit. Guards rotated again. The chalk circle was redrawn twice and erased twice more.
At some point, Dorian realized the murmuring had changed.
Less fear.
More curiosity.
Someone laughed nervously.
Someone offered odds on whether the chicken would still be there in the morning.
A scholar tried to sketch it and failed when the paper caught fire.
Dorian exhaled slowly.
This was how it happened.
Not through catastrophe—but through normalization.
He crouched again near the chicken, lowering his voice.
"You know," he said quietly, "if you are here for a reason, you're being very unhelpful about it."
The chicken blinked.
"Is this about me?" Dorian asked. "Because I'm already very busy."
The chicken tilted its head.
Dorian sighed. "Of course it is."
He stood.
"Alright," he announced, clapping his hands once. "New policy."
The crowd turned.
"The chicken stays," Dorian said.
Murmurs rose.
"It does not belong to anyone," he continued. "It is not hostile. It is not divine—probably. And anyone attempting to study it without permission will be assigned to latrine duty."
The scholars recoiled.
"Effective immediately," Dorian added.
A guard whispered, "Sir... are you sure?"
Dorian smiled faintly. "I am making an executive decision."
The guard blinked. "Are you allowed to do that?"
Dorian paused.
"...Define allowed."
Thunder rumbled again.
The chicken hopped out of the circle.
No one moved.
It walked past Dorian.
Stopped.
Looked up at him.
Clucked once.
Then continued toward the guild hall.
The doors opened by themselves.
The chicken disappeared inside.
Silence fell.
Dorian stared after it.
"...I didn't authorize that," he said quietly.
The clerk swallowed. "Sir... what now?"
Dorian straightened, smoothing his armor.
"Now," he said, "we update the apology."
He turned toward the guild hall.
Behind him, the scholars began arguing again—new theories forming, none of them correct.
Dorian walked after the chicken, heart pounding, lips curved in a tired smile.
"Next time," he muttered, "we're establishing rules."
Inside the guild hall, the lights flickered once.
Somewhere deep within the building, a chicken clucked.
Dorian stopped in the doorway.
"...I am not paid enough for this," he said.
The chicken did not disagree.