We walked quietly across the empty terrain toward the gate, but eventually curiosity got the best of me. "Are you going to tell me what you treated back there with the—"

"Later," Esper snapped.

Her vehemence caught me off guard, and if we hadn't just chatted about using her name, I would have assumed our relationship had taken two steps backward. Instead, I followed her gaze toward the Volki guards who manned the gate. Their open-faced helmets gave me a clear view of their faces. They had a harsh, but professional, air. Each carried a long spear in one hand with a short sword strapped on the belt. As with everyone else, their weapons were carved from wood. Muted markings patterned the dark leather, heavier than what the [Pathfinders] wore.

They paid us little attention as we approached, their eyes fixed on the tree line, watching for the true threats to this place. However, that didn't mean they weren't listening. As we passed through the wide-open entrance, I tried to get a look at their Marks, but their armor and helmets covered most of their skin. I didn't dare risk getting a closer view. However, my interest didn't go unnoticed. When my gaze lingered too long, the air around me thickened. I had experienced the increase in pressure enough to recognize the implicit threat. I snapped my gaze back in front of me and continued toward my longhouse.

The pressure didn't ease until I had made it several paces beyond the walls. When it did, I couldn't help but throw a glance backward. The guards hadn't shifted. I let out a breath that I had not realized I was holding.

Esper clicked her tongue. "Reckless."

"They were the first Volki guards I'd seen up close."

"Curiosity kills as easily as any blade."

Not quite the saying I was used to, but I got the sentiment. It was also completely at odds with my worldview. We celebrated curiosity, not shied away from it. However, here the warning rang true, and it also highlighted just how poorly my instincts transferred to this world.

We continued deeper into the mining camp. The camp really did have a rustic charm to it, especially at this time of day when the majority of people were deep in the mine or sleeping off a late shift.

With all that had happened, I had lost track of the time. "How long were we out there?"

Esper glanced up at the sky. The sun had passed the meridian, edging toward the tree line. "A bit over a quarter-day."

"I am supposed to be splitting time with you and my company, but I don't know when I'm supposed to show up in the mine."

"You misunderstand your situation, Junior," she replied, taking care to emphasize my title. "Your company has no claim on you now. You have entered our ranks. I decide when you have leave to work in the mine."

"The Verndari won't like that—"

"You know little of our customs. [Healers] are given great deference."

"How does that apply to me? Last time I checked, your Master doesn't believe I'm a [Healer]."

"It matters not. Until you leave my tutelage, you are [Healer]. Do you not trust me?"

I wasn't going to walk into that trap. "I trust you—and I know the Verndari isn't lenient nor fond of Humans. Do you think my episode of Aether toxicity happened by accident?"

"What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing." Her lips pressed into a thin line. Good. We're on the same page. "But maybe now you understand how I ended up on your doorstep and why I'm a bit leery."

The edges of her mouth turned downward. The question was in her eyes, though she never voiced it. "This is different."

"I just need to know why."

"Are your [Healers] not given respect?"

"They are, but not to this degree."

"You have shown a surprising reluctance to my methods, and your [Healers] do not kill, correct?"

"No. We don't."

"Perhaps that is it. What we do for our tribe is only matched by the difficulty of the path we walk. Daniel, we kill as easily as we heal. As you know, that can go wrong in many ways. Even with the right Potentials, most fail. We spend years training. The worthy become [Shaman]. Those at the cusp become [Spearweavers]. The remainder walk another path."

"How many fail?"

"Most. It is one of the greatest honors to become a [Shaman]. I left my tribe to apprentice under a true master of the craft."

"And she accepted you even though—"

Her head snapped toward me, and the air pulsed, violent and rhythmic. I shut my mouth. Esper gathered herself. "I know what you think of her, and I know what she thinks of you. Do not doubt her dedication. She cares for the Tribes above all else, and she will not set aside talent out of contempt. I am Ættar where it matters, and I will leave her in no doubt of my worth. After she gives me her blessing, no one will dare question my path. I will become a [Shaman]."

"Didn't you think she was going to betray you?"

Esper snorted. "Honor and debts bind us. A [Shaman] knows this better than most; she must fight battles off the field of war." Then she gave me a thin smile. "And I have you."

She's insane, and I'm a piece on her board. Yet she's saved me every time.

My move was clear. "Has it been worth it?"

Her jaw worked. "Yes."

I didn't have a response to that, and we walked in silence. As we neared the Healer's Lodge, she finally spoke. "As I was saying, you need not fear the Verndari's wrath. He will not risk my ire, not for a sliver of your time."

"If you say so. But I'm not sure that is the expectation. I also think I should make appearances in the mine. I can help heal the wounds. I owe them that much."

"You owe them moving further down your path. I think your time is better spent elsewhere, but I will confer with my Master."

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"And the Verndari?" She arched her eyebrow. Fine. Your patience is wearing thin. "Okay. Okay." I nodded. "I trust you."

I glanced back toward the tree line. "What's the plan? I'm guessing we have some daylight—"

I stumbled over a rut, and Esper's hand closed on my arm. "When was the last time you were injured that badly?"

"What?"

Esper turned to face me, a look of concern on her face. "I asked when you were last injured that badly."

"I never have."

She sighed, looked down at her bag, then shook her head. "I should have seen it before. You are going to be of no use to me today." I gave her a puzzled look. "You nearly died today. Your Marks are fatigued. You will not be able to focus."

I couldn't completely disagree, but still. "I should go to the mine, at least."

She clicked her tongue. "Have you looked at yourself?"

I hadn't, and I couldn't give her a reason why.

My lack of response was all the justification she needed. "Come. You need to recover. I may have erased all physical signs of our fight, but I could not take away your memories of it. It will catch up to you if left untended. I will take you to your longhouse, where I recommend you clean up. I will come back for you after the shadow has moved a hand's-width."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she stopped me. "No argument. I need to remember that you are a child—"

"I'm not a child." Which, unfortunately, was exactly what a child would say. It didn't help that I was about to ask how to convert a hand's width to minutes.

I can't even tell the time in this place.

Her gaze lingered, then a subtle shake of her head. "In many ways, you are. I mean no disrespect, and it is to your advantage. A child can be forgiven for much. Right now, you have the look of a young man who barely survived his first hunt. I have no doubt you will recover, but you need to be given that chance. Now come with me."

I opened the door to my longhouse and stepped into the dark room. A quick tap on the plate brought the light stones to full illumination. I turned back to Esper. "We're here."

"Good. Clean up, and I will be back shortly. Keep the door locked until then."

"Then I'm heading to the mine?"

"No."

"But—"

She cut me off. "Again, I will take care of it. Now go take care of yourself, Junior."

I'd have better luck arguing with the wall. "Yes, Senior."

She waved to the door. I rolled my eyes before shutting it, making sure to drop the bar with a loud thump.

I sighed and then kicked off my boots. I headed straight for the bathroom, stopping at the mirror on the way.

Esper had been right. I hadn't assessed the damage the direwolf had inflicted on me. Now, in front of the mirror, I couldn't avoid it.

In good news, if I ignored what I was wearing, I was passable—assuming the standard was "spent the night on the forest floor." The bags under my eyes told the story of someone who hadn't slept a wink. Small leaves and pine needles clung to my hair, and my face was speckled with brown flecks. It made for a "charming" mix of dirt, blood, and who-knows-what else.

Maybe I can just tell everyone I tripped. A lot.

Dorian would see through that in a flash. A splash of cold water may take care of my face, but my gear? That was a different story.

I let out a heavy sigh as I finally took in the full extent of the damage to my white coat. The direwolf's jaws and claws had left their mark. The sleeve had a large tear that ran from the midpoint to the cuff. The bottom half of the coat hadn't fared much better. A large flap hung loose where the direwolf had created tears running from the side to the front seam. Above and around the large rips, small holes peppered the fabric where the coat failed to repair.

I carefully took off the coat, examining the sleeve as I slipped it off my left arm. It remained white, starkly at odds with the extent of the damage; however, on closer inspection, the white was no longer the pristine shade it had been before the fight. I ran the damaged fibers between my fingertips. The fabric remained smooth and supple. It wasn't thinned in any manner. Clean cuts marked the edges of each tear, which didn't track. The direwolf's claws had been coated with Energy, but even then, some of the edges should have frayed.

Was it trying to repair itself like before?

I tried pushing Energy into it. The telltale tingle in my fingers started, grew, then hit a wall. I cocked my head. It was not unlike my attempts to project.

Is the issue on my end or the coat's?

I didn't have an answer on how to fix it, but I had one clear solution to this problem. I involuntarily shuddered at the thought of showing her what had happened to my—her—coat.

I shrugged it off and laid it out on the floor. I carefully pinched the edges of the holes and gashes, closing every gap. I then folded the loose flap on the sleeve back in place.

Let's see what this self-repair function can do. Maybe I'll get lucky.

That hope did not extend to the sweater I had worn underneath. The direwolf had shredded it beyond salvage, and as I pulled it off, it came further apart in my hands.

Maybe I can use it for bandages if I boil the strips first.

Reddish-brown had overtaken the cream strands that made up what remained of the left sleeve and front. I turned it over. The back had stayed whole, but the fabric had similar colored stains as the front. I'd bled enough for it to seep through my scrubs and undershirt.

I pulled off the scrubs and the shirt I used as an underlayer. They had survived the assault far better than the sweater. For one, they had short sleeves, but even their fronts had only one long—though quite wide—tear. I examined them front and back, finding only the barest hint of blood on the off-white undershirt.

How? They should be soaked with blood.

I flipped each piece back and forth, bringing the damaged parts closer to my eyes. They had no fraying either, just a clean line down the front.

[Self-Mending] and [Self-Cleaning] enchantments at work?

They had it. The sweater didn't. But maybe…

I turned my head over my shoulder in a futile attempt to suss out the truth. Between potions, my skills, and Esper's healing, scarring would be the exception. I would never know the full extent of my injuries from getting thrown against the tree.

A good mystery to have.

I laid the enchanted pieces down, bringing the edges together on the off chance they could mend. Then, I grabbed my sweater. I balled it up to toss in the corner but paused. It already contained my blood.

What are the odds? It can't hurt.

I carefully laid the blood-stained fabric on top of the white coat, making an effort to keep the coat's edges approximated. Then, I laid my undershirt on top of my scrubs top with the same degree of care. With that done, I got up and poured my remaining water into the bath. For once, I didn't have to care about my supply, and it made lowering myself into the warm water all the sweeter. As I sank all the way in, I let out a long sigh.

This place is hell, but at least they know how to make a bath the perfect temperature.

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth soak away the day's tension. More than once, a small creak in the wood caused me to jump, but I found calm with a few deep breaths. Even then, I could stay for hours, but Esper wouldn't appreciate being kept waiting. Still, I took a moment to marvel at the unblemished skin on my left arm as I scrubbed it clean. The transformation from a shattered wreck to this beggared belief. I flexed and rotated it without even a hint of discomfort.

I finished shortly after and dragged myself out of the bath. I dried off and picked the undershirt off my scrubs.

Let's see what happened.

A quick flick sent small dust plumes into the air, and I leaned back in surprise. I shook them out thoroughly until nothing else came from them. Then I gave them a once-over.

No way.

No trace of blood remained on the undershirt. Even the large gash in the front had started to pull together, though the change was far more prominent on the scrubs than on the undershirt.

Looks like the scrubs pulled together faster than the undershirt, even with the [Self-Cleaning] and [Self-Mending] enchantments Kyria Rhaptis wove in.

My gaze drifted to the white coat with the discarded sweater draped over it, but instead, I opted to head to the chest of drawers. I pulled out another borrowed sweater, throwing it over my bare skin. I returned, squatting in front of my poor white coat.

What had they judged this thing's worth—a king's ransom? I could measure the time I had it in days, and I had ruined it.

I peeled back the ruined sweater, and my eyes went wide. There would be no bandages coming from the sweater.

As if attacked by moths, large holes dotted the remains of my sweater. However, it had regained its cream color. All the blood touching the white coat had vanished.

I have a vampire coat…

At least it had done something with the blood. The coat had recovered far better than my scrub top. The sleeve was no longer a flap, the rip having mended enough to create the beginnings of a sleeve. The tears in the front had also pulled together. However, the repair had left faint lines where tears had been. The smaller holes were far less noticeable now, but they hadn't disappeared entirely. Still, my white coat had outpaced my scrubs.

Not perfect, but impressive. Still, is this the most it can do? I turned my gaze back to the scrubs and undershirt. And why in the world did the scrubs not consume the undershirt?

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