I woke up, eventually, and I was rather warm.

We were still in the north. The mountains were still covered in ice. But there was a blanket draped across me. A blanket that… looked strangely dark.

[Treasure: Flicker of Regret

Owner: Emilia

Description: From darkness blossoms fire, from fire blossoms warmth. This temperate blanket will automatically adjust to consume the ambient temperature, returning the person under its cover to a comfortable state. It will also aid them in purging harmful effects, be that from toxins, foreign energies, poorly handled internal energies, or similar. The flames also burn away at any mind-altering effects that may be imposed upon the wielder. Once, a giant grew to regret its destination, but couldn't turn back. Now, in its memory, others are returned to their original state.]

I blinked at the black, quilted piece of fabric. It was cozy and soft, feeling warm and nice against my skin. It was also decorated with a cartoon skull motif, lovingly stitched in as if by someone's kind grandma. I also noted that, despite my misgivings about the item… I felt great.

"We got a blanket for beating the giant?" I asked, dejected.

"Yepyep, Princess," Emilia replied cheerily. "We got a blanket. Now don't be a wet blanket about it. We already drained the lake." She gave me a bright grin at the pun, and I rolled my eyes.

It was, however, snowing on us, so I quickly activated the Memory of Shelter, my amulet that warded environmental conditions. The snow then began to drift off to the side, as if landing on the flaps of an invisible tent, and the warmth of the faintly crackling fire, sustained mostly by Trichtera's blood, quickly started gathering within the confines of the space.

Out of all of us, Eric was the one who enjoyed that most. He'd been huddled up by the fire, rubbing his shoulders. The cold got to him more than it did me or the others, since his base durability was so low. Well, he hadn't caught a cold yet, so he was probably fine. Chris, for their part, was stitching their shells back together after the battle. And also animatedly chatting with Stella.

Stella. Once Eagleeye from Zinnic. Even now, her body for Neamhan was still held in stasis within my gateway, while we waited for Reya to make it into the next tier and hopefully figure out how to heal her.

Right now, she was giving me a very awkward look. I blinked at her. "What?" I asked.

"I shot you with an arrow," she noted drily. Nervously? A little, perhaps.

"Water under the bridge," I waved her off.

Emilia snorted. "There's no bridge. Just water under the mountain, I guess."

At the comment, Trichtera groaned, grabbing her face with both her hands. Stella seemed a little more nervous, apparently not quite used to the banter yet. "Are you… sure?" she asked.

With a shrug, I nodded. "Yeah. You got me out of the death-beam. I'm thankful, really. Better a few puncture wounds. You even hit my ribs! They cracked, but hey, you didn't stab me through the lungs like the last Zinnic assassin."

"... Huh?" she asked, confused.

"Oh, not the tiger. That was before that. Right after I hit wellspring, actually. But enough about that! You're one of a few maelstrom level fighters we have here in Eden! How come you helped me?" I asked her, smiling faintly. I was being nice, maybe a little too much, trying to melt the ice.

The fact was that she'd saved my life. Maybe I would've survived, but it would not have been pleasant. I already had a good chunk of my skin flayed off. If she hadn't intervened, then… what, would I have been left as a walking glass-skeleton with my organs suspended in golden soup? That didn't seem like an ideal life.

No, it was good that she was here. I wanted to be on decent terms with her. All I needed to know was… why? Why was she here?

Stella gave an awkward smile. "Well… Erasmus, the seer, asked me to help you out. He sent me a letter. By a pigeon. Not that it was a pigeon, it was some kind of lizard-bird thing. But it asked me to head north and see about helping you."

"Thanks," I said. "You saved me a lot of pain and trouble. I appreciate that."

She looked down at the ground, not quite willing to meet my eyes. She mumbled a few words.

I tilted my head. "What was that?" I asked.

"No biggie," she muttered. "I said it was no biggie."

Emilia slapped her on the back hard enough to make her bend forward, the breath being knocked right out of her. "C'mon, Archer. Are you gonna keep beating around the bush or being real with us?" she asked, grinning brightly. "You're acting like you're carryin' a mountain on your back. Just spit it out already, idiot."

At that, Stella spluttered through a few words and syllables, placing a hand on the back of her head. "Well, it's awkward, dang it! I tried to kill you before! And I was all edgy about it, cuz' I thought I had a few months left at best. And now, I've been handed a reasonable shot at a second lease at life. Of course it feels awkward!" she protested. "Half of your dang guild is in the 5th realm at this point! If your saintess makes it… And I almost killed your girlfriend!" she said, gesturing at me.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"How many Edians have you saved since getting back here?" I asked.

"Huh?" her eyes widened.

I repeated the question. "How many lives have you saved? You've told us you're working with the archmages, so they must have a reasonable amount of trust in you."

"Not that many," she deflected. "I mostly hunt down big, remote targets."

"Which means they're not attacking cities," I chided.

"I've killed people for Zinnic," she pressed, getting up from her rock. Emilia stood next to her with her arms crossed. "I can't ever make up for that. Never. I've got blood on my hands."

"So do I," I replied. "When Ann was kidnapped I killed about a dozen grunts without blinking an eye. I don't even remember what they looked like. Did all of them know what they were doing, you think?"

Stella scoffed. "Not the same."

I nodded. "It's not. You've done wrong things. So. Make sure to keep doing the right things to make up for it."

She stared at me. "Seriously? That's all you have to say after I tell you I killed people?"

"Yep," I replied. "You've hurt me. You've hurt Ann. But here you are. You could've just cruised by in Eden, just gotten a cottage somewhere, not interacted. But, instead, you fight. You go out there and fight usurpers, because they're a danger to Edians. You're doing a good thing."

I clapped her on the shoulder, looking into her eyes. "What does your gift say about you, Stella? What's your covenant?"

At that, she sights, placing her face in her hands again. "Repentance," she replies bluntly. As if it were some kind of unfairness that she got a second chance.

With a small smile, I decided on it.

[Stella Miren has been added to your [Transference] network.]

She gave a choking sort of snort. "That easy?" she asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "That easy."

"Damn it all."

- - -

Lars Desum was a large man, but he still felt small inside some rooms. He didn't do very well with the sterile white of experimentation chambers. Inside his chest, he kindled that small flame of bravery. The little dreg of hope his daughter had helped him ignite.

The opened Door of burned Regrets. He breathed in deep, as a stethoscope touched against his bare chest. He was still lighter than he'd been when he got into the clinic. It was so easy to lose weight here. It was hard to eat, and since he drank less… he was missing, what, eight hundred-ish calories that he'd drank in beer every day?

God. What a fucking depressing number.

"Heartbeat normal," the doc noted with clinical precision. "We'll be taking your blood pressure now, Mr. Bellum. Please hold out your arm for us. Thank you," she added the last bit when he did as asked.

It was strange. The fact that he so clearly felt different, that he was stronger now, ever so slightly, gathering that heat in his chest. Fio hadn't told him a lot, but what she had told him was enough. He'd found his own path. And he was moving forward along it. Imperfectly, of course, because he was an ox.

That thought made him smile slightly. Yes, he was an ox. He was best at bashing his thick skull into walls until they broke, in walking forward slowly and steadily until there was no more journey left to walk.

He breathed, and the measuring device beeped. "Blood pressure… a little low, but within normal range," the doc noted. She scribbled it down on her clipboard. Then she tapped a few of his joints with those little hammers, shone a flashlight in his mouth, checked his ears…

"We'll also be taking a blood sample for labs. Three, actually, in order to do a few tests on them," she noted. "Please hold out your arm."

"What kind of tests?" Lars asked.

And, as every single time until now, the woman clammed up. "Tests on how the procedure is influencing interactions with various stimulants," she said.

Lars breathed. He'd played along for a while now, but he did want to know more. "What kind of stimulants?"

The doc looked at him for a long moment. "I'm not at liberty to disclose the details of the study to the patients, Mr. Bellum. Doing so could compromise its scientific integrity, as well as mess with our control group comparisons."

At that, the old man scoffed. He'd been patient, because it was helping, and because he was almost certain to be doing better than anyone else, with his daughter's guidance. "Right, that sounds like bullshit," he said. "I know when I'm being lied to."

She eyed him for a long moment. "Mr. Bellum, I will have to ask you to try and remain calm."

Instantly, Lars felt the disgust creeping up on him. He'd gotten up. He towered over the small woman, and it made him feel like garbage again. "Sorry, doc," he muttered. "I didn't mean to intimidate. But going along with vague tests is starting to feel rather frustrating."

"I understand your apprehensions, Mr. Bellum," she said in typical corporate speech, "but you did sign the waiver to participate in the experiment. You're being fairly compensated according to state law. I can assure you that we are approaching the second phase of trials, though, in which you should see more significant changes."

"What would that entail?" he asked, slowly, making sure to keep his tone and breathing calm. Inside of him, the open door lingered. He stood past it, by one step, and behind him, there was a fire. Into that, he tossed yet another regret. Yet another shameful memory he needed to move past. It was almost rote meditation by now.

She sighed, as if dealing with an unruly customer. "You would be taking an experimental medicine that should alleviate the symptoms of your withdrawal by resonating with your internal energy. That is already more than I should tell you, Mr. Bellum."

Lars looked at her. For a long moment. "When will those trials start?"

The doc pushed up her glasses, and sighed. "If you wish, and your values are good, then I will move them up. I can have the first dose of the med sent to your room by tomorrow morning. It's still experimental, but other facilities have shown some promise, so we are looking into expanding a bit faster. Would you like to volunteer, Mr. Bellum?"

He didn't. This sounded incredibly fishy. But, at the same time, if there was something wrong with it, then he was in the best position to try it. After all, he had the best daughter in the world. With a small smile, he resolved to call Fio that evening. If something was wrong with things, she'd know. "Sounds good to me, doc. Will I get more pay?" he asked, playing gullible.

"Yes," the woman said, eyeing him through the steel-framed lenses. "Your compensation will be increased commensurably. But in order to move things up, I will need your blood samples. So, please, Mr. Bellum. Your arm, if you would?" she asked.

Lars, playing along, did just that, holding out his hand. "All yours, doc," he said, as the needle pressed into him, pulling out a bit of blood. A bit of fluid with a little bit of Qi in it. He felt a faint pull against the warmth in his chest, but it was tolerable.

Finally, he had a chance to do some good in this world. He would get to the bottom of this thing.

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