"I am impressed," Rægnor said when I finished recounting the day's events over dinner. "You put down multiple creatures above your tier and protected the Vísir's apprentice. You may have the makings of a [Healer]."

I let out a long sigh. "I think I already know the answer, but tell me, how does killing two monsters make me good at being a [Healer]?"

Dorian cut in. "I'm with Daniel here. How does that make him suited for a [Healer]? I'm more impressed by whatever he did to stop the pain."

My shoulder tensed slightly at the memory of how close I had come to not having full function of my left arm. However, Rægnor didn't notice. "Stopping the pain shows skill, but that can be taught. He faced danger and didn't flinch. He has shown a warrior spirit."

Dorian scrunched his eyebrows. "No offense, but you seem to be confusing a [Healer] with a [Warrior]."

Rægnor looked at Dorian, "Daniel I understand, but you, young scion, should not need this explained."

"I'm a [Miner], not a [Warrior]," Dorian spluttered, face flushed. "I mean, I know of [Shaman] and [Spearweavers], but don't you hold the line for them to heal you?"

"You have it backward. We hold the line so that they may bring death."

"No, that's not what I've seen. The people on the front are doing the killing."

Rægnor shook his head. "It may seem that way, but in the fierceness of battles, it is the [Spearweavers] who bring about the fall of our enemies. Few can withstand their power. They whittle down even the toughest foes." He looked at me. "You have seen their power firsthand."

I nodded. "I have. If they are all as dangerous as Esper—" A quick frown flickered across Rægnor's face, and I caught myself. "I've overstepped somehow. Was I not supposed to use her name?"

He paused, weighing how to respond. "Much depends on your Master's—"

"Senior's."

Rægnor cocked an eyebrow. "Senior's?"

I thought carefully. "It was a point of contention, but we've come to an agreement. She is my senior."

Rægnor shook his head. "You continue to impress me. You return in one piece even after getting the young [Healer] to let you address her as anything but Master."

I muttered, "It is complicated. But you didn't answer my question."

Rægnor nodded, as if appreciating my willingness to learn. "It is considered impolite to use a senior's name unless it has been granted to you. Even then, we address people by their title with outsiders, unless they have been given the privilege. Has the Vísir's apprentice granted you her name?"

When I nodded in confirmation, he continued, "Then you may use it in close company. However, using it with outsiders around implies a high degree of familiarity." He gestured to Dorian. "Among the traditionalists, speaking her name with him here would be a breach of propriety; however, though he has not earned the respect that you have, he has bled for the company. Many would see no problem, especially given your training has the Sæmdarskati's blessing. Still, out of caution, I would recommend referring to her title with others."

"I may need you to explain more about customs. I think I've been given quite a bit of leeway, but at some point, that won't cut it."

He made a grave nod. "You continue to show wisdom." His solemn tone had made the hair on my neck rise, but then he defused it with a slight pat on my shoulder. "You need not worry. I will help you. As a positive, my brothers do not expect much, but that may change if you continue helping us as you have."

I sighed. "Just my luck. Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

Rægnor chuckled, his deep baritone echoing throughout the empty cavern. "You would prefer the alternative."

"Of course not."

Dorian got us back on topic. "How about some compassion for the one who got slighted? No? That's fine. I can take it as long as someone explains how killing makes one a [Healer]."

Rægnor gestured to me, and I took a stab at it. "As I was saying, Esp—the apprentice [Shaman]—has an aura that—"

I stopped and looked to Rægnor for guidance. If using her name was a breach, what would telling skills be?

"Generalities are fine," he reassured me. "That skill lies at the start of the path. An Oresian of his stature should know that much."

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Dorian didn't even try to downplay his status. He just pointed at Rægnor. "Hey, I would like to see you recite the details of the typical skills held by the classes in the top Oresian clans."

"Do you want me to start with the [Shieldbearers] or the [Earthweavers]?"

"No way. I don't believe—"

I cut in. "As interesting as that is, we are going to table that conversation so that I can answer your first question. My Senior has a skill that accelerates decay. Honestly, I think it affects the rate of micro—" I waved away the failure in translation. "Let's just say it causes festering, and it's dangerous. I got caught in it."

Rægnor studied me. "Then you truly do know what it means to hold the line. The trust we place in our brothers and sisters."

"I have an idea, but I think I have some advantages in resisting it. I don't know how they can avoid collateral damage. I don't think my Senior's a novice when it comes to targeting the skill. We were hard-pressed, but won't that be the case in most battles? A [Spearweaver] would have to struggle to protect their allies from it."

"True. The decay can afflict our brothers, but multiple [Spearweavers] can compensate—a [Shaman] even more so. Our enemies cannot. Most don't dare bring their [Healers] close enough. They stay tucked away far behind the lines, making it hard to focus on so many."

Dorian nodded along. "That would be the standard procedure. High-tier [Healers], at least among the Oresiani and Volki, are rare and often targeted."

I couldn't help but ask. "What about Humans?"

Dorian made a so-so gesture. "Lots of hybrid classes to compensate."

Rægnor grunted in agreement. "While that is true, those classes often don't have the power or skill to combat a group of [Spearweavers]—at least, not without support. That brings me back to my original point. A [Healer] must be willing to face danger head-on and ultimately put it down. Daniel has proven that, which is the biggest obstacle to excelling in that class. The other skills can be learned if one has the Potential."

"And that last part is the problem," I said. "I don't have the Projection to be a [Spearweaver]. However, even if I could, I would struggle to inflict that on a sapient being."

Rægnor harrumphed. "I urge you to reconsider your concerns. After all, life must give way to death if it wishes to sprout again."

The cycle of life wasn't the sticking point. Putting someone down using medicine…was a step beyond euthanasia. The American Medical Association explicitly forbids physicians from assisting in administering the medication cocktail used in the death penalty. However, I didn't have it in me to argue the point. Worse, I had used my skills to stroke out a direwolf.

I'd already taken a step onto that slippery slope. How much could I give up before I stopped recognizing myself?

I looked to Dorian, and he shrugged. "What? If you're looking to see if we're different, you're going to be disappointed. If any of the heads of a clan had [Healers] of Ættir's skill, they would use them the same way. But that's not where Oresiani shine. Those with the right Potentials tend to take a different path. Still, those who do become [Healers] are respected. There is more than one reason you don't piss off a [Healer]."

I shook my head. "That's not why I went into this."

Dorian slapped the table. "And that's why they make this." He pulled out a flask from a pocket. "When you need to smooth the rough edges of life."

"I hope you're joking."

Dorian snickered. "You know I'm not. Come on, Daniel. You need to relax a bit, especially after a day like today. I won't give you too much."

Rægnor didn't move to stop Dorian as he poured a drink for each of us. Even from across the table, the drink gave off a heady aroma that sent tingles down my spine.

Dorian pushed a cup toward me. "I didn't give you much."

I reached for the glass filled with a dark liquid and floating iridescent flakes. "This is a bad idea."

"Maybe, but you'll enjoy it."

He was right. I did. The drink hit hard, leaving me drifting in a pleasant haze. I took a moment to savor it before opening my eyes to a wide smile on Dorian's face. He raised his cup. "Good, isn't it?" I managed a nod, then he continued. "You told us about the fight, but you left out one thing."

The world tilted slightly when my brows scrunched, but I managed a response that didn't slur—probably. "What's that?"

"How you got my dear Avinja to fix your coat."

My heart skipped a beat. "Oh."

Dorian poured another shot and took a swig. "I've been thinking about it, and I have an idea. But I want to hear it from you."

With the alcohol running through me, I couldn't lie with a straight face even if my life depended on it. I sucked air through my teeth. "I owe her a bit of my Mark now, when we leave, and weekly check-ins…with you."

He pointed at me. "I knew it. That conniving old crone will always find a way to insert herself into my business."

"Sorry."

He sighed. "It was going to happen at some point. Did you get something good out of it?"

"Free repairs until we leave. And she covers the materials."

Dorian gave me a so-so gesture. "Not bad, I guess, for a rookie."

"I'm glad you're not too annoyed."

"I'm not, but you aren't getting away without paying a price." He raised a hand. "It will be fair. I want you to ask the apprentice [Shaman] if she'll let me pursue her."

My mind blanked, and not from the alcohol.

He's got to be kidding me. Esper? Is he trying to kill me?

I tried to speak, but no words came out. It took another second to realize my shock had triggered [Quicken Thoughts]. I canceled the skill. It did nothing to help me find my words. "What?"

"You heard me. I think that will be fitting payment."

"You're joking, right? Are you trying to get me killed?" I turned to Rægnor. "This is a bad idea. She's my Senior."

"It is actually fitting."

"That better not be the alcohol talking," I countered.

He snorted. "It is not." Then he addressed Dorian, "Though she may think you weak for not asking yourself."

"Eh, I'll take the risk. I have no other way to approach her."

I struggled for any lifeline. "What about Thalia?"

Dorian cocked his head. "What about Thalia?"

He tried to play it off, but he answered too quickly. I also wasn't blind. Thalia had feelings for him. If Thalia finds out…

How did I end up a matchmaker in a camp crush? I'm too old for this.

"How about I try to renegotiate with Kyria Rhaptis?" Dorian just raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I can't believe I'm saying this. I'll do it, Dorian, but if I end up a rotted corpse, it's on you."

A deep chuckle rumbled from Rægnor's chest. "She will not kill the messenger."

"I hear a 'but' there, Rægnor."

"We do not punish them either—typically."

I dropped my head into my hands. "I am so done for."

Both men just laughed at me.

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