When Dean returned to the Inn, there was a room and a bed waiting for him. The Watchmen had insisted on celebrating, but when Dean had made it clear he was tired, they had sent him off with a cheer and promises to wish him well in the morning.

  By the time he reached the top of the steps, Dean’s limbs felt heavy. His eyes were hooded, his head throbbing as if he’d been struck. He shut the door to the room behind him and locked it, barely registering his surroundings as he started towards the large water basin in the corner. Piece by piece, he stripped off his armor, letting it fall to the floor with a rattle.

  What is wrong with me? He thought as he dipped his hands into the basin. He splashed the room-temperature water over his face, scrubbing at the soot and dried monster blood that clung to him. It took him a moment to realize his hands were trembling. Something was off.

  Bringing up his status window, he eyed his stats, his eyes snagging on a bit of red text hovering in the corner.

  Warning: Essence level low. Rest or meditation is required to replenish normal levels.

  That would explain why he was feeling the way he was. He had expended more essence than his body could tolerate, and now the fatigue was setting in. Endurance was likely something he could train, but it would take time.

  Perhaps I need a mentor.

  Dean stripped to the waist and finished washing himself, pulling a fresh wool towel from a shelf overhead and drying himself off. In the reflection of the water, he could see himself. He looked different than he had only a month ago. He was still lean, but he was no longer the scrawny seventeen-year-old he had been. Muscle protruded from his arms and shoulders, and his jaw seemed fuller, squarer than it had before.

  Vaguely, he wondered if he looked anything like his father. Then he quickly discarded the thought, shaking his head. That man was nothing more than a doner as far as he was concerned. Dean had never known him, not even his name. He had tried asking his sister, but Sylvie hadn’t known anything either, and the topic had seemed to pain her. So Dean had kept it to himself. Perhaps that was for the best.

  A knock came at his door.

  “Enter,” he barked without turning. The door opened behind him and Dean closed his eyes against his reflection.

  “Tasha,” he said. “Is there something you needed?”

  “You knew it was me without looking?”

  Dean nodded.

  “Your essence signature,” he said. “It’s different than the others. More distinct.”

  “Really?”

  He turned to look at her. She was carrying a woven basket in her hands with a towel, strips of linen, and a bottle that looked a lot like spirits.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, raising the basket. “But I have some experience with cleaning and dressing wounds. I figured it was the least I could do for…”

  She trailed off, her cheeks heating when her eyes came to rest on his bare chest.

  “Come in,” he said, gesturing to the table by the bed. “I have a few cuts and scrapes I wouldn’t mind getting tended. Do you have any experience stitching wounds?”

  “S-some,” she said, bobbing her head as she tried to look anywhere but at him. She bustled in, resting her supplies on the side table, and Dean shut the door behind her, cutting off the sound of the revelry downstairs.

  “Their in high spirits,” she said, smiling as she set the linens down on the bed. “We may be a small town, but Dutton has had its share of troubles these past few months. I think your arrival was a stroke of luck for us. Maybe the Gods really did answer our prayers.”

  Dean pulled a stool from the corner of the room and sat, allowing her to look him over.

  “The cut on your shoulder should heal on its own once cleaned. But there’s a gash on your arm that might need tending to.”

  She brushed a hand over a scrape on his chest, and he couldn’t help but notice her the warmth of her touch.

  “Is it true you killed the monster yourself?” She still wasn’t meeting his gaze, her eyes instead fixed on his chest where her hand now rested.

  “It’s true,” he said. “The Monster is dead and the nest taken care of. Nothing should bother you for a good while but I’d still recommend being cautious. Especially at night.”

  Tasha nodded slowly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Then she set to work. She was no professional healer, that much was clear. But her hands were swift and sure, and she had no aversion to wounds or blood. She wet a clean cloth with the liquor, dabbing at his wounds to wipe away any dirt, sweat, or debris. After examining each cut, she took out a small wooden box that contained sewing needles and thread. He watched as she disinfected each item before rolling up the sleeves of her dress.

  She was gentle but firm, and Dean watched as she threaded the needle through his skin, repairing the gash he had sustained fighting the Deceptor. When she pulled the thread tight, she glanced at him as if expecting a reaction. When he only stared back at her, she smiled.

  “You’re tough,” she observed, a note of approval in her voice. “Most men make a fuss about that part.”

  “I’m not most men.”

  A flush crept across her cheeks, or perhaps it was just the lighting in the room.

  “No,” she said as she tied off the thread. “You are not.”

  She dabbed at the few drops of blood that still wept from the wound before moving her attention to his shoulder. This cut was far shallower, and she merely cleaned and dressed it, tying off a bit of linen in a makeshift dressing. Dean moved his arm experimentally, nodding when he found the tight bandage didn’t restrict his bandage.

  “Well done,” he said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you patch the wounds of the reckless quite regularly.”

  Tasha’s lips twitched in a smile.

  “My father wasn’t always the man you see now. When I was a girl, he used to get himself into all sorts of trouble. I learned from him, and that’s why some of his older scars look worse for wear. Turns out learning to stitch a wound at nine years old has it’s downsides.”

  Dean chuckled, pulling a fresh shirt from his inventory and pulling it over his head.

  “He was a mercenary, wasn’t he?” he asked, nodding towards the door. “Ivan.”

  Tasha’s lips parted in surprise, her eyes meeting his with a note of caution.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it as a criticism. It was just an observation I made when we first met. He was wearing a Sabertooth fang around his neck. Rare beasts, but their teeth and hides are incredibly valuable. Usually the only parties that travel that deep into the northern mountains are monks and mercenaries hired to hunt them.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tasha sighed.

  “It’s that obvious, huh? Yeah my father used to travel with a band, one that was known by a… less savory reputation. Occasionally they would take contracts for nobility, take young Adventurer’s out hunting in the wilds to farm essence shards and the like. Not the most desirable work but the pay was good enough.”

  She placed the used needle in a hard wooden case and began gathering the bloodied linen. Dean watched her, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Sounds like a glamorous life. Why’d he give it up.”

  Tasha glanced up at him, and her light eyes were piercing.

  “Me,” she said. “And of course my sister. When she was born I’m not sure he knew what to do with himself. My mother wasn’t in the picture, unfortunately and Ivan… well. He wasn’t what most would consider solid father material. But he loved us, and in the end, he put us first. Left the business and opened the Inn. He’s a good man,” she said, a note of defensiveness in her voice.

  Dean nodded, rubbing a hand across his cheek.

  “That he is. It’s a good thing to have someone dependable in your life.”

  Tasha had finished gathering her supplies into her basket, but at his words, she paused, her eyes searching his face.

  “Do you have someone you can depend on?”

  Dean thought of Sylvie. Of the way sword she’d made for him that now leaned against the wall. Of the hug she’d given him. The promise he’d made to do his best to stay alive.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. My sister’s always been there for me.”

  “That’s the function of a sister. We look out for our siblings, no matter what.”

  Tasha rose, and Dean followed suit. She reached up, checking the tightness of the bandages peaking out from his shirt color before making a sound of satisfaction.

  “It’s not a professional job, but you shouldn’t seriously scar. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Her eyes flicked to his, and Dean was suddenly aware of their proximity. He met her eyes, lips twitching in a smile.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try not to get myself into trouble for at least the next few days that way you don’t have to see me again.”

  “Promises, promises,” she crooned, lifting her basket and striding for the door. “See you in the morning, Thompson.”

  The door shut behind her and rubbed at his face, amused. The old him might not have ignored that moment between them. But Dean was not the boy he used to be. He had a responsibility now, to himself and to the world, and distractions were just that. Right now, his focus had to be on finding the cause of the southern collapse. It was those events that had led to the weakening of Haven, and its inevitable fall during the first demon invasion.

  If he could piece together what had happened and combine it with his knowledge of the past then he might have a fighting chance at changing the outcome of that battle. And perhaps more to come.

  One thing was for certain: Dean would need to hone his skills if he wanted to face his enemy. And his first step should be to learn more about his essence abilities. Dean poked his head out of the door to the room, making sure it was clear before he closed and locked it.

  Then he moved to the rug in the center of the room, where he sat cross-legged and brought up his inventory. The essence shard felt as electric as it had the first time he’d held it. Dean examined it in the lantern light, watching the shadowy swirls within the crystal itself. The shard itself was potent, the dark energy something he could physically feel. Consuming it would make him stronger, but he couldn’t help but feel trepidation as he crushed the shard in his palm.

  Tilting back his head, Dean raised the crystalline powder to his lips and opened his mouth. The essence tingled as it hit his tongue, and he chewed twice before swallowing. Seconds ticked by and he began to relax before the first wave hit him. It was strong, rising up from his core like a cresting wave on the river. Dean’s muscles tensed as a feeling of elation washed over him.

  The room became brighter, clearer, and every breath he took felt like pure air. A fly buzzed near the window in the corner, and his eyes snapped towards it, the overwhelming urge to hunt boiling up within him. He could feel the instincts within him stir, calling him to act. Energy stirred within him, and Dean exhaled, closing his eyes as he attempted to master the feeling.

  These urges to hunt, to strike, were not his own. They had belonged to the monster whose essence he had consumed. Dean breathed in again, feeling his lungs expand and his core relax. He was not a beast. He was a man. He exhaled slowly, focusing on steadying his mind.

  In and out. In and out. In and…

  You have learned a new skill: Meditation. Mediation is a skill often used to recover lost essence or to advance to the next essence threshold within his or her given rank. Raising one’s threshold improves the power and potency of one's essence abilities and raises resistance to essence fatigue.

  Current Threshold level: One. Do you wish to advance?

  Yes/No?

  Dean continued his breathing, reading the words carefully as he considered. He could see no downside to raising his threshold, especially if it increased the power of his essence abilities. He selected yes and returned to his meditation, waiting.

  The feeling was gradual, but it started within his core. From his center, essence bloomed like a flower, spreading through his veins and muscles. At times, it felt cold, so cold it almost hurt. At other times, it burned like fire. Dean found himself locked in place, fighting to keep his state of meditation as the essence flowed through him. At times, his muscles spasmed and cramped, but his body remained locked in place, unable to move.

  He realized that in this state, he was likely vulnerable, unable to defend himself if an enemy were to bypass the lock of his room. A thrill of fear went through him, nearly breaking his concentration, and with it came pain. Gritting his teeth, Dean forced the fear down, focusing instead on the task at hand. He needed to separate his concerns from his current state. For better or worse, he was locked in an internal battle, and until he could overcome it, there was little he could do.

  So Dean instead turned his mind inward, opening up his mana sense and allowing himself to feel. Within minutes, the pace of his heart slowed, and the essence in his core seemed to calm. His breathing resumed at a more measured pace.

  In and out. In and out.

  Dean wasn’t sure how long he remained in that pose on the floor, but when he finally opened his eyes soft sunlight streamed in through the windows. Had he meditated all night? A blue box made itself known to him.

  New Essence Threshold achieved: 1/3 needed to advance to Bronze Rank.

  So, he had made progress after all. Dean rose to his feet, his stiff muscles pulling and stretching. He felt unusually good for a man who had just been in a battle. Dean glanced down at his wounds, surprised to find that though they were still present, many of his scrapes and bruises had faded, giving the appearance that they were several days old.

  He ran his fingers along the scar on his shoulder, realizing it was little more than a raised bump. That was interesting. It seemed meditation could speed up the process of healing at least marginally. Though he didn’t doubt more serious wounds and injuries would require proper potions and healing. What was more, though he hadn’t slept, Dean felt fully rested. Energized, even.

  Dean stretched his arms and legs before beginning his morning routine. He ran the perimeter of the village, nodding to the watchmen stationed by the gate who stared as he sprinted past. When he returned to his room, he performed a total of one hundred push-ups and crunches before finally pausing to drink from his canteen. He felt stronger somehow. As if his body was brimming with energy it hadn’t had before.

  His mana sense alerted him to a presence before the knock came at the door.

  “Breakfast!” came Ivan’s muffled voice from beyond. “I took the liberty of making it myself so it isn’t as good as Ada’s work, but I hope you’ll accept it as a parting gift.”

  Dean pulled open the door, revealing the innkeeper holding a plate piled high with food. Sausages, eggs, and a generous helping of fried mushrooms were heaped on top of one another, and Dean’s stomach let out an approving rumble.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the plate and moving to sit on the stool. Ivan hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind him.

  “You're up early,” he noted as Dean speared a sausage. “Some of the men could have sworn they saw you sprinting the perimeter. I thought maybe they were imagining things but”

  His eyes landed on Dean’s half-healed scars.

  “Clearly, the rumors are true. Tell me, are you really human?”

  “It’s a product of being an Essence user,” Dean explained, setting his fork down on the empty plate. “Once you unlock the ability to use it essence itself is in constant flux within your body. Since it is, quite literally, the source of life and vitality, it has healing properties.”

  “Huh,” Ivan scratched at his stubble. “That’s an impressive power. With skills like that, it seems like you can’t be hurt.”

  Dean shrugged.

  “It has its limitations. If I had serious wounds or injuries, I doubt simple meditation could have done anything to help me.”

  Ivan loitered there for a moment, glancing from his boots to the window, and back again. For the first time, Dean noticed the tension in the man’s shoulders.

  “Listen,” said the old mercenary, pulling a small pouch of coins from his waistband. “I meant what I said. This town owes you for what you did, and we always pay our debts.”

  He tossed the pouch to Dean who caught it and raised a brow.

  “This feels heavier than the five or six silver we agreed upon,” he said, glancing up at the man. Ivan sighed, tugging a hand through his hair.

  “That’s because it is. Listen Dean, I have a proposition for you. I swear I wouldn’t have asked but…. I don’t know who else to turn to.” A muscle worked in the man’s jaw and Dean recognized how much it took for the former mercenary to ask him this.

  “Will you hear me out?”

  Dean hesitated as he set aside his plate but the pain in Ivan’s eyes was unmistakable.

  “Alright,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll listen to your proposition. But I can’t guarantee anything. I have an agenda of my own.”

  Ivan nodded, finally looking up to meet Dean’s gaze.

  “Then I’ll cut to the chase and not waste any more of your time. My youngest daughter, Tasha’s little sister, has gone missing.”