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“Park Sun Ja-nim, I have the full report here.”
“Ah. Thank you, Mr. Kim, place it over there. How are they doing?”
“You can read it right there…”
“Stop being cheeky and tell me. I want to hear it from you, Mr. Kim.”
“Urk… Ah, erm, most of the inmates are still in their starting cities, but twelve have already left and reached level fifteen. Number 14 and 35 in particular are doing very well.”
“Their mental states?”
“We’ve detected drops in responses from the amygdala and other marked regions from 14, but she hasn’t acted on them yet. Number 35 is normal.”
“And the others?”
“Number 49 has stabilized. Almost all inmates are experiencing rapid jumps in metabolic rate. Heart rates are consistently higher and peripheral system activity has increased in all of them.”
“As expected. Increase their diet by 8 ounces of rice and 2 ounces of beef. Add half an hour of extra exercise to all of them for the week.”
“Yes ma’am.”

---

Crow fell on her butt after stumbling back a few paces.

It was Jorgen, but not the same Jorgen she knew. This Jorgen was just as tall and muscular as the normal Jorgen, but covered with... fur. And the face... the face was almost completely that of a wolf, with a snout and ears and a shiny black nose. She couldn't discern the details in the dark, but this was definitely the Jorgen that appeared out of thin air and saved her.

If this was Jorgen, then the fiercely growling black thing was Brutus.

The creature struggled violently and pushed Brutus away. The wolfdog sprang back as the creature roared and raised its club. But before it could swing it, a dark arm hurtled in and grabbed the creature's thick neck, then jerked down with incredible strength and brought the creature to its knees. Jorgen flung the creature into a tree, and it landed with a splitting THWACK.

It did not rise, but opened its terrible maw and screamed.

A sound full of hatred and fear. A monster's death cry.

OOOUUURRRRAARRRGGWWW!

And then Brutus was at its neck, tearing it to shreds. Chunks of flesh went flying. The creature gurgled bloodily once, turned grey, then vanished. Only its club was left.

Jorgen turned swiftly and strode over to the trembling Crow. His face was that of a wolf, but his eyes were human, and they were glinting with a sharp fury. "What are you doing here?" He snarled. The words flew out a little garbled, but they were perfectly understandable.

He was... very mad at her.

Her anger flared a little then. She had come all this way to be mad at him, not the other way around. But before she could retort, he dragged her to her feet, threw her over his shoulder, and started running.

The world was spinning dizzily.

Inhuman cries rang throughout the forest.

"It called its brethren. They're coming, and we must get out of here."

Even with her slung over his shoulder, Jorgen did not seem at all out of breath. He was running at a terrifying speed, but the trees and low branches obstructed their path. Jorgen leapt and hurled himself in a dizzying weave through the trees. It was a jarring ride, but Jorgen's thick brown fur was plushy enough that her face did not become a bruised and battered plum. As Jorgen ran, Crow could feel his grim, desperate urgency. She glimpsed Brutus loping easily alongside them.

More cries, another guttural wail. Then another, louder this time, accompanied by a series of yips.

And then, Jorgen stopped so abruptly that the jarring motion nearly threw Crow off his shoulder. He tensed, turning around slowly. With a nimble grace unbefitting of his enormous stature, Brutus flowed to a stop and whipped around… to face whatever was coming.

Jorgen put her down and shoved something into her hands. “We won’t make it. The Six-bloods would follow us all the way to the city to avenge their kin.”

Crow fought down a violent urge to vomit, something she had practiced many times in her encounters with the Harpies. The Harpies were bad, but how could mere humans, no matter how twisted, compare to that monster she had seen in the forest? That… that was true fear, a sickening knot in the stomach that grew and grew to clench the heart.

“Wh-what? Six… Six-bloods?”

“No time, I will—“

Brutus growled suddenly, his hackles rising even higher. Jorgen’s eyes hardened, sharpening into icy knives.

“Stay back!” he shouted to her, flinging out his arm as if to protect her trembling, shivering form.

Of course she was staying back. To fight with… one of those things? It was incomprehensible. Impossible. She was… she was a nothing. Something forgotten by society, someone unneeded. What could she do?

Numbly, Crow resisted the urge to crouch down and make herself as small as possible. One part of her mind, her primal instincts, screamed at her to run, run as fast as possible. But the tiny sliver of rational thought she had left kept her locked in place; it would do no good. She could never outrun them. A weapon. She needed a weapon, anything, anything—

With a dazed realization, she remembered that Jorgen had given her something earlier when he set her down. She looked down at the hard, leather-encased object in her hands. It was a sheathed dagger with a bound hilt.

And then the monsters were upon them, bounding out from the nearby trees. Without stopping for even a moment, they leapt forward, their large, bestial eyes gleaming with eagerness. Some of them had the six sagging breasts of the first one she had seen. All of them were carrying clubs, and some were draped with rotting leather and animal skins.

Jorgen lunged forward, extending a blade that had suddenly appeared in his hand to pierce the fastest of the Six-bloods in the shoulder. It roared and dropped its club, wrenching away as spurts of red light gushed out. Brutus dashed in, tearing viciously at the Six-blood’s ankle. As the Six-blood buckled, a second monster barreled in, pushing its injured brethren aside in its eagerness to get to the prey. Jorgen grabbed the monster’s arm and used its own momentum to send it crashing face first to the ground. Brutus leapt onto the monster’s exposed nape, latching on with crushingly powerful jaws. The Six-blood thrashed as Jorgen dealt it a quick, precise blow through the back of its ribcage, and it disappeared with grey light.

One.

Another Six-blood screamed, hurtling forward and swinging its club with mad intensity. Jorgen dodged one blow, but a fourth monster came in from another side to strike Jorgen solidly in the side with a hard crack. Jorgen was jilted to the side from the force of the attack, but he snarled and leapt forward, narrowly dodging a club to slash the face of the monster that had struck him. The Six-blood stumbled back clutching its face, screaming. Brutus slammed into it, jerking in the air to kick off of it with his hind legs, throwing the Six-blood backwards. The wolfdog landed and launched itself again to attack the monster swinging its club at Jorgen, who was barely dodging. Another monster, the fifth, joined the frenzy and dealt a scraping blow to Jorgen’s arm. Jorgen twisted to grab the club and pulled himself forward to dig his claws into the monster’s back, shoving the monster forward while plunging his sword into its stomach.

Another Six-blood struck Jorgen’s exposed back. With a grunt, Jorgen jerked his sword out and leapt to the side as Brutus attacked, tearing and ripping two, three times until the wounded monster disappeared.

Two.

Crow watched the battle unfold in open shock. Those were not the ordinary movements of a mere soldier. The powerful movement of his muscles, effective strikes and evasion, the bloodthirsty aura that sent chills down her back. His effortless teamwork with Brutus was also incredible; even her inexperienced eyes could tell that theirs was an understanding forged through many battles. Jorgen had sustained blows, but he was still just as nimble as ever—if anything, he looked even faster and stronger.

GRAAAOR!

Shocked, Crow jumped back, a yelp escaping her. The heavily injured one that Jorgen had struck first had gotten up and was limping towards her, a maniac light in its eyes.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

She stumbled back, desperately clutching the dagger she had unsheathed at some point. Was she even holding it right? Pointy end out, right?! She looked desperately towards Jorgen, but the other two remaining monsters happened to be blocking him off from her. Somehow they had gotten in between, separating her from Jorgen. Her lifeline was on that side. WHY WAS SHE ON THIS SIDE?!

HOLY SHIT! Run, or attack? Run, or attack?

The Six-blood flailed its uninjured arm as it drew closer. And then it screeched, a horrible noise that jarred her to the very marrow of her bones.

Run. Definitely run.

As if that screech had freed her locked legs, she turned tail and ran, only to take a few steps before stumbling on a tree root. She fell to the ground, her sole weapon clattering away and under a nearby bush. The taste of dirt and disbelief filled her mouth as uncontrollable hysteria pumped through her veins. Then there was a pressure on her leg, which some part of her numbly registered as the monster grabbing her.

WHY THE FUCK DID SHE ALWAYS HAVE TO FALL ON HER FACE?!

Crow desperately pulled away, but the monster had its claws in her. Curiously, she didn’t feel much pain, just a stinging discomfort. But that wasn’t the issue here, a frickin Six-blood was now practically on top of her. It had fallen along with her, its shredded ankle unable to support its misshapen body. The monster was turning her leg into paper mache.

A red bar swept to one side of her vision that she had noted in her first week of playing but never paid attention to was rapidly decreasing. Something in her mind connected that to similar red bars she had seen in the past. Health. Her Health? Was falling so quickly?

She was dying. She was going to die.

With this realization, something snapped. A surge of power filled her muscles. She screamed as she twisted and swung her body toward the monster and scrabbled at its face with her bare hands. Her fingers plunged into something firm and round, which she vaguely recognized as a Six-blood eyeball, but fuck it all, she was beyond that. As she viciously scraped at the Six-blood’s eyes, the monster roared, gobs of saliva catapulting from its mouth and into her hair, and thrashed to try and pull her off its face. The monster finally managed to violently extract her hands from its eyes. And then she was flying through the air, soaring and landing in a bush.

Spitting out a leaf, she tried to stand, but found it nearly impossible with the state of her leg. As she tried to push herself away from the infuriated monster with her hands, her right hand grazed something leathery. The dagger! Grabbing it, she rolled out of the bush somehow and towards the blinded monster, which was ineffectually thrashing in its search for her. Dazedly, she noticed a bar similar to her own above the monster’s head. Instinctively, she knew it would only take one more hit for that bar, which was dimly flashing red, to hit zero. She launched herself up into standing position with a heroic burst of strength, took a one-legged hop, and plunged back downwards over the monster. As she fell, she took a fistful of the greasy locks on its head and shoved the face backwards, then rapidly plunged the dagger into the space between its eyes with a sickening crunch.

The monster was there, shrieking, and then it wasn’t. With a poof of gray, it altogether disappeared.

Before she knew it, she was falling through the suddenly empty air, her arms windmilling as her face crashed into the earth.

Dammit, nothing ever went well for her.

But she had somehow killed one of those monsters. It might have just been a miracle, but a level 1 Tailor should not have been able to kill such a grotesque monster, even if it was already heavily injured. No, Kim Ha Yoon, the prison inmate, should have died there. But Crow, the Tailor, had managed to kill it.

There was no time to dwell on it, because Jorgen was at her side in the next instant, rolling her over without warning. Crow rubbed the dirt out of her eyes and yelped as Jorgen roughly hefted her up onto his shoulder again and began running. As Jorgen bounded away, Crow saw that Brutus was attacking what appeared to be the sole remaining Six-blood.

There had been five of those monsters. Only one was left, and Brutus would likely win. Jorgen wouldn’t have left him otherwise.

Who… who was he? Who was this giant wolfman that had tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes TWICE in one night?

Jorgen ducked underneath a low overhanging branch, which unfortunately smacked Crow in the face as he rapidly bounded up again. When she finished spitting out the leaves, she couldn’t see Brutus anymore.

They burst out of the forest. A stretch of meadow was before them, and the city walls were not far.

Jorgen set her down on the grass. She knew very well that Jorgen and Brutus had saved her life. If not for them, she would have been ripped apart many times over.
Too many questions bubbled to her lips, but as soon as Jorgen put her down, he silenced her with a mere glance.

Crow hadn’t noticed it earlier because her face had been bouncing on his shoulder, but Jorgen’s eyes were a gleaming orange. There was a raw, unbridled wildfire dancing in those dilated eyes, something inhuman. He was breathing raggedly now, and his jaws were slightly parted, hinting at sharp, vicious canines.

Lycanthrope.

The face of a wolf, the upright frame of a man, and the wild power of a beast. Crow didn’t know much about lycanthrope lore, but she was certain that the existence in front of her was one.

Those flaming eyes darted to her leg, then back to the forest they had just left. Jorgen growled, low in his throat. “I must go back. More of them could be coming. Brutus…”
He turned towards her again, directing those painfully fierce eyes straight into hers. He spoke with difficulty, as if the words were slow to come to his lips. “Stay here. None will attack you as long as my scent is on you. Please. Do not be as stupid as you have been earlier tonight.”

And then, he was going, bounding away into the forest.

As she sat on the grass, Crow made an assessment of her situation. Her gaze drifted to the red bar again, her Health. There was only a sliver of red left, less than a fourth. Now that monsters weren’t crawling all over her, she was able to calmly think about what would have happened if she had died. Would she… revive? It was a game, right? The chafe of her dirty, tattered clothes, the smell of the grass. It was all so real. And the gruesome shrieks of the Six-bloods, the sheer detail in the monsters itself, all of had thrown her into an illusion that she was really, truly going to die. But yes, Royal Road was a game. She would have likely returned to this world even if she had died back there.

Crow clenched the grass, breathing deeply. Now that she wasn’t in the fray, her hysteria from before seemed ridiculous. A small laugh of relief almost escaped her, but she caught it and forced it down with a tiny smile.

She was alive, in this world. Despite the critical condition of her leg, she felt… she felt… exhilarated? Was that it? She was bewildered and certainly wanted answers, but there was something frantic and joyful in her blood, a foreign feeling, one that didn’t belong in her grim, resolute body.

Happiness…

Crow pushed that thought aside and looked around instead. She was in a meadow not far from the town, most of which was brightly lit despite the long hour of the night. Thanks to the city’s light and her advantageous position on top of a small hillock, she was able to see her surroundings more clearly. However, there were only two other people in the meadow. It seemed that neither of them had noticed Jorgen or her, because they were furiously hacking away at various creatures.

As Crow watched curiously, one player raised a large, glowing rod as another raced forward with a sword, swinging clumsily at a wolf. The animal snarled and attacked, dealing a bite wound to the swordsman, who was slow to dodge. The swordsman yelled something and the other player’s rod glowed as a fireball coalesced on the rod, then arced away and hurtled towards the wolf. Magic!

She watched the small party struggle. The swordsman lacked the quick, powerful bursts that Jorgen had demonstrated earlier. Unlike Jorgen, his movements were sluggish and ill-aimed, and his strikes only landed about a third of the time. From what she could tell, the magician was also having difficulty hitting the nimble wolf, and the lack of cooperation between the two players made it even harder. However, when one of the fireballs actually struck the wolf, it died with a single surprised yelp. Magic was powerful, but it seemed harder to use. That made sense; swinging a sword was more intuitive to the human body than wielding a fantastical magical force.

She wanted to know more about how it worked. Did you chant a string of words that activated a spell, or make a certain movement of the hands? It was a little too dark and she was too far away to discern such details, but the magic was beautiful, almost entrancing.

The swordsman also seemed to have a skill somewhat akin to magic, because his sword occasionally flashed with light and seemed to be more damaging. Crow watched the party tumble from critter to critter, hunting and stopping to check the spoils of their battle.

That was another thing. When the monsters died, their physical bodies poofed away with grey light, but sometimes they dropped things that the party always stopped to pick up. That explained the club from one of the Six-bloods that had failed to disappear along with the monster’s corpse. That must have been an item drop. So she could presumably pick it up and take it for herself. It was just a crude stick, but if she could sell it to a shop, it would yield some money.

Of course, Crow hadn’t found much use for money. While running errands for the shop, Helen had always given her the money to buy the herbs, fabric, and groceries. She had never needed money to buy clothing, since she could make her own from materials that Helen often provided. She didn’t have to pay for rent, and food was provided…

At the thought of food, her stomach growled. Crow frowned in a moment of shock. What time was it? It was still dark out, but a few hours must have passed since she had left the shop. Now that some time had since her horrifying encounter, a heavy weariness was settling into her bones, and the trembling in her limbs was gradually fading. So much had happened, and much of it was too much to digest. Too many new feelings and experiences had assailed her today, and her whole body and mind was keenly feeling the consequences.

She shivered a little, wrapping the ragged remains of her clothing more closely around herself. Fall’s chill was in the air, and while it wasn’t the biting cold of winter, her sweat had cooled rapidly, leaving her skin bumpy with gooseflesh. Where was Jorgen? Were he and Brutus okay?

Crow anxiously waited a bit longer as she watched the two players slaughter giant rabbits, two wild goat-like creatures, and another wolf. When the party turned and headed towards Granheim, clearly done with hunting for the night, Crow also stood up. Surprisingly enough, her leg had mostly healed and her Health bar was almost ¾ filled. Automatic regeneration. This rate of natural healing was definitely an ability only available to players. If NPCs could heal this fast, Jay wouldn’t be sick. He wouldn’t be dying.

That line of thought made her walk faster. Jay could be awake now, screaming as Helen struggled to hold him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself. She took care to give the scattered wolves a wide berth. Crow had experienced enough adventure and bloodshed for one day. It was time to go home, Jorgen or no Jorgen. She could only hope that no more Six-bloods had emerged to avenge their fallen kinsmen.

Crow passed through the meadow with no interruption and silently entered the city. The gates were left open at night, only guarded by a few soldiers playing cards on a table to the side. They weren’t the same gates she had left by; this one was bigger and lit with lanterns. One of the soldiers looked up when she approached and waved her in carelessly before returning to his game.

She slid like a wraith through the town’s back alleys and dark streets, carefully avoiding the well-lit main roads. Even at this hour, the main streets and central plaza would be dotted with players. Some stores even specialized in staying open at night, especially the small food and trading stalls that lined the plaza. Although she normally avoided people anyways, she especially didn’t want to be seen right now, when she was tired, drained, and ragged. After picking a longer route to avoid the night life and getting lost a few times, she eventually found the shop’s plain wooden door. Crow had shined the doorknobs and meticulously cleaned the windows, so the shop’s general effect was far less dingy than when she had first come. That had been four weeks ago.

The door clicked open and she crept inside, her ears straining for any sound of Jay in pain. Silence. And with it, relief.

But still, it wouldn’t hurt to check. Crow slinked up the stairs in the dark and opened the door as quietly as possible. The room was dark. Helen was sleeping soundly in her corner cot. Jay’s small, curled form was breathing unevenly and raggedly, but he was asleep.

Crow left, shutting the door gingerly behind her, then went downstairs and into the kitchen. She rejuvenated the stove fire with more wood and was boiling some water to pour some chamomile tea when she heard the shop door open. Brutus padded into the kitchen moments later and plopped right down next to the stove, ignoring her as ever. The wolfdog looked weary, but he was otherwise unhurt.

Jorgen plodded into the kitchen. He was completely human again—all traces of what she had seen in the dark night were gone. The heaviness of his shoulders betrayed an exhaustion that penetrated his whole being. Jorgen was a warm and hearty fellow by nature, a loving man full of laughter. But as Jay’s illness progressed more rapidly than expected, the nearly perpetual smile on his face had become forced, more painful, and his eyes lacked the usual sparkle.

Tonight, Crow had seen yet another facet of the enigma named Jorgen. She’d seen not only his Lycanthrope form, but also the wild light in his eyes and the tangible bloodlust that had rippled off him in waves. He had been more animal than man.

Jorgen looked at Crow wearily, and he was about to say something when she gestured at his chair at the table. Clearly this would take a longer explanation. Her physician self, developed through weeks of caring for Jay, was concerned about his physical condition, too. The Six-blood clubs had battered him, and she suspected a few cracked ribs, if nothing else.

“Are you okay?” Crow asked quietly as she handed him a cup of steaming chamomile tea.

He took it, looking a little surprised. “Yes.” Crow poured another cup for herself as Jorgen wrapped his enormous hands around the cup and continued, “Crow, that was very dangerous. You seem to be alright now, but you could have died there.”

When Crow was silent, he rumbled on, “Six-bloods are dangerous. They’re a nasty breed of Troll that hunts and mobilizes in packs of six. Many foolish adventurers, unaware of that pack mentality, have been ripped apart by them.”

Crow heard the rebuke and warning in his words. She nodded, knowing that he was right. She had followed him out of the town and into the dark forest in her first venture outside of Granheim. With no weapon and entirely no idea of what could be out there. Once again, Crow was reminded that she knew too little of this dangerous world.

“I’m sorry. And… thank you.”

It was more difficult than expected to say those few words, but once they were out, she felt a bit better. She had put Jorgen and Brutus in danger.

Jorgen looked sharply at her, surprised. A weary smile superimposed itself on his drawn lips. “Hah. I thought about being angry at you, really angry, but I can’t after all. You’ve been too good to us, and to Jay…” He pressed his eyes closed in momentary pain before hunching over his cup again and looking straight at her. “But why did you follow me? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you are a coward.”

“What?” Jorgen asked, astonished. His hand was clutching the cup harder.

Of course he would be surprised. He had risked his life and that of his companion to save hers tonight. And not only his life, but his identity, a precious secret that she had not been meant to see. But now that she had said it, she was determined to go on. There were too many questions that demanded answers, and Jay couldn’t wait forever for his father to pull himself together.

“Jay doesn't have much time left, but you've been running off into the forest instead of being with him. You’re too scared to accept that Jay is dying and abandoned him when he needs you most. You coward."

As she spoke, she stared at Jorgen’s hand, which was grasping the cup harder and harder. Veins popped out against his flesh as he squeezed the poor cup. His whole arm began to tremble.

And then he snarled, a quiet, hair-raising noise that steadily intensified in volume. “How dare you. What do you know?! HOW COULD YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

He sprang up from his chair, pounding his fists against the table in a surge of fury. Brutus was by his side in the next moment, his lips curled and a growl forming deep in his throat. Jorgen’s massive frame loomed angrily above Crow, dwarfing her, but she struggled to stay calm.

“Jay is sleeping,” she said, and looked right into his eyes.

The normally placid, dark brown eyes were stormy with emotion, and anger was crackling dangerously in them. Under that gaze, it was all she could to not bolt. But as she watched, the anger subsided and drained from the man all at once. He fell back into his chair, pressing a hand to his face. In the wake of that fury, there was only overwhelming grief. Jorgen trembled as he wept. Brutus whined and nosed his head into Jorgen's arms.

A strong man was crying in front of her. He was so broken inside.

"Why?"

Jorgen looked at her with bleary eyes. "It's... it's all my fault."

When Crow did not offer commentary on that, Jorgen sucked in a deep breath and continued. "I am part wolf. More precisely, my father was the Lycanthrope and my mother was human. I am half Lycan. Jay is one fourth.

Lycans are normally healthy beasts and live longer than humans, but Lycan blood that is too diluted becomes toxic. When the body no longer knows how to deal with the Lycan blood, it fights it. A child with only a quarter of Lycan blood does not live past age ten.

The Brotherhood warned me against it, bade me to wed another half Lycan like myself. But Helen and I... I thought I could make it work, that everything would be okay. That our love would create a healthy, normal child."

His voice was laced with bitterness and self-revulsion. "I was an idiot. And I still am. There is nothing I can do, and the palace is on my trail..."

He had confirmed her suspicious. A Lycanthrope… They were supposed to howl at the moon, and were uncontrollable on full moons. It had been a new moon tonight, so that much could be true. What she knew for certain was that Jorgen was something dangerous, something that couldn't exist outside of a game. Still, she had seen his Lycan form. Now that she thought about it, Jorgen and Brutus likely fleshed out their diets in the forest. The forest had prey aplenty to sustain two wolves, even if one was half human and the other was more enormous than any wolf she had ever seen.

That was all easy to accept, but the part about Jay was disturbing and unsettling. One fourth Lycan? Known to die before they were even ten years old?

Jorgen clearly hated himself for it. The guilt and grief was written all over his face. While looking at the raw pain in his face, Crow couldn’t bring herself to feel angry. It was already done. Nothing could change the past. Nothing.

“Even so. Even so, he needs you.”

Jorgen was silent at that, and very still. Then he straightened a little and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“You’re right. I may be a cowardly, no good father, but you’re right. I wish I could make it up to Jay, but... there's no time left for either of us…”

Jorgen looked straight into Crow’s eyes. “There is something I must ask you to do. Wait a moment."

He stood and left the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later, a small brown package was in his hands. He sat down again and gingerly opened the package, revealing a slim stoppered vial with a tiny leaf inside.

"This is Heart of Innocence. It is a rare drug that will repel some illness and pain... but only temporarily. It was one of the previous king’s gifts to me. I’ve been saving it for this time. In the morning, have Jay drink it and leave the city with him. Show him... show him a little bit of the outside world, give him one of the adventures he has dreamt of. Even if it’s just one day, he deserves that much.

Jay... Jay loves you. You're the only person who can do this."

"You're his father. Come with us."

"I can't explain right now, but I can't leave. Take Brutus. He will protect you."

"..."

"I will... I will stay with Jay and Helen tonight. I can't make up for my folly, but I am still his father, and I love him.”

Crow nodded at that. She didn't know what the hell was going on, but at least Jorgen was making an effort to face his guilt.

"Will you accept this selfish request from a father? It's all I can do for him. Please."

"I will do it."

"Thank you."

After that, Jorgen breathed deeply, closed his eyes and slowly set his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his huge hands. He didn't seem inclined to speak anymore, so she silently pocketed the brown package, left the kitchen, and went to the small attic room the Graystones had rented out to her. It was tiny, barely large enough to fit a cot and a small chest filled with the clothes she had made for herself.

In the end, no matter how much she cared, she was an outsider. She did not truly belong in this family, but she had nowhere else to go and could not imagine simply leaving.

The quest... its end would be marked by Jay's death. That did not surprise her, as she knew it was inevitable, but a deep sorrow filled her nevertheless. She would go adventuring with Jay for one or two days until the drug's effect wore off, then return to the shop with Jay and remain by his side until his last breath.

She reflected on Jorgen's words. Leave the city? And do what? She was so weak, as tonight's horrible escapade had clearly shown. Yet he would trust her with Jay, his one and only son. Well, Brutus would be coming, too.

What could she do to make sure Jay had the adventure he had dreamt of? She was no hero. Although she had mercilessly called Jorgen a coward today, she was also one.

There was one thing she could do. She could fight. She could change. For Jay.

**

It was a chilly, crisp morning.

It was not one she would ever imagine taking Jay out into. The chill would agitate his cough to fatal levels.

Yet there he was, being bundled up for a trip outdoors. Helen was busily wrapping his limp form with a thick fur coat and woolen scarves. Jay was barely conscious, coughing weakly every now and then. Crow wiped the frothy blood from his lips after each fit.

Crow wasn't sure about how much Helen knew, but the petite woman was humming. There was an aura of cheerfulness about her, but it was forced. Crow sensed that enormous grief was lying just underneath that pressed smile.

"Isn't this great, honey? You'll be going on an adventure!"

Jay's eyes fluttered open and his cracked lips parted as if to speak, but only a faint moan, no more than a raspy exhalation, came out. He was on the verge of death, too weak to even talk. It was not the time for an adventure.

Yet both Jorgen and Helen were feigning happiness.

Crow resolved herself and walked forward with the freshly brewed tea. Helen had helped her make it this morning. The secret ingredient was Heart of Innocence, which dissolved in the hot water. A tiny pinch of herb, no bigger than a pinhead, had turned the water milky white. It had no fragrance.

Jay, now decked in clothing suited for the harshest days of winter, was propped up with pillows on his bed. Jorgen tilted his son's neck back slightly and parted Jay's lips gently with his thumb. Helen took the mug from Crow and slowly spooned in the tea as Jorgen watched silently beside her. A droplet of milky liquid rolled down Jay's chin, but he did not choke as he had sometimes done with his teas on the worst days, when his uvula could not function properly enough to prevent the flow of liquid into the respiratory system. They had experienced some terrifying near death moments with that.

Helen spooned in the last of it, leaned in, and kissed Jay's brow. Jorgen put his wide arms around both of them. Crow watched two paces away, a tinge of sadness burrowed in her chest.

But there didn't appear to be any changes in Jay. He was as frail as ever, and Crow felt betrayed. This Heart of Innocence was supposed do great things, wasn't it? Had it been a fake?

Jorgen, however, did not call for a change in the plans. He gazed at Jay one last time before directing his attention to Crow, who stood there with a frown on her face.

"Crow. It is time."

He walked over to a corner of the room and picked up a scabbard and a belt.

"This was my old sword. Take it as a gift for all you have done for us."

His hands lingered on the scabbard for a moment before holding it out.

She took it silently. It was heavy, a solid weight in her hand. A sword…

“And this as well. It’s just a dagger, but it’ll be easier to use.” Jorgen plucked a dagger from his boot, deftly twirled it in his hand, and passed it to her with the handle outwards and the blade pinched firmly in his hand.

Table: You have obtained Jorgen Graystone's Old Sword. You have obtained Iron Dagger.

She accepted the dagger and slid it into her belt. Jorgen showed her how to do it without stabbing herself. He then helped her strap the sword to hang at her side. It was a heavy addition, and felt awfully cumbersome. It would take her a while to learn how to walk without having the scabbard slap the back of her thighs with each step.

Then Helen stepped forward. She held a beautiful leather tunic, dyed in black.

"I tried making it as you would have liked it." She smiled sheepishly, her eyes glistening. "I wish I had made wares like this earlier. Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”

As Crow took the soft tunic from Helen and murmured her thanks, it occurred to her that there was something weird about her words and this atmosphere, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Table: You have obtained Tunic of Shadow.

Jorgen carefully lifted Jay then. They moved downstairs. Helen ducked into the kitchen and emerged with a bulging rucksack.

"There's herbs in here for tea, and food and two canteens of water. There’s a small tent, big enough for the two of you. It should be straightforward to set up. And a firestarter, a small hatchet for wood-cutting…”

Crow took it and strapped it so that it fell on the side that the scabbard wasn't on. The pack balanced her considerably and made walking easier.

Then Jorgen placed Jay on Crow's back. She supported him and leaned forward so he didn't fall. Although he had a lot of extra clothes on, he still didn't weigh very much at all. She couldn't feel him breathe through the coat, which bothered and disturbed her.
Brutus heaved a disconsolate sigh and worried his master's hand with a wet nose, but Jorgen just nudged him toward Crow and Jay. The wolfdog trudged over.

Jorgen smiled faintly. "Come back home safely, Jay, Crow, and Brutus. Thank you."

Home...

"Have a nice trip, my darlings!"

Something was terribly off about this.

Why... why did it feel like a good bye?

Brutus was the first to step out, his tail drooping and his ears tilted back. Crow followed, suspicion coloring her thoughts.

There was no doubt that this would be Jay's first and only adventure, if that. The drug didn't seem to have done anything. Crow's plan was to go out, hunt a little with the sword, and return as soon as possible. Jay should not be in this weather...

Unless... unless they expected him to not return. Unless this really would be the last time they saw him.

Was this a parent's love? Sacrificing everything else to give their child one last good memory?

Crow looked desperately at Helen and Jorgen. The overwhelming sorrow in their faces confirmed it. There were tears running down both their faces.

So that's what it meant by the death of Jay ending the quest...

She clenched her teeth. She had promised to do this quest. It was a harsh responsibility to bear. She would be the one to experience Jay's last moments. She would see him die, hear his last breath, feel the warmth of the living flow out of him. Wasn't this too cruel to ask of an outsider?

But... but she wasn't an outsider. She.. she loved Jay. Maybe not as much as his own parents did, but she loved him nevertheless. His bubbly eagerness to share stories of knights, his willingness to please, his incredible ability to drink sockwater, his strength and dedication to life despite everything.

So she turned on her heel and walked out the door into the bite of the autumn chill. And she walked resolutely away, away from that warm, grieving home and enduring family.

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