The cold air hit my sweaty skin, but I didn't have the time to feel it. I had bigger concerns.

I sank into a crouch, narrowly avoiding Zachariah's fist. I tried to spin out of range, but Zachariah was faster. He brought his leg around in a wide arc and connected with my shoulder with stunning force. I was thrown a body's length to the side. Instead of trying to land, I tucked into a ball, and rolled away to get some distance. I stopped spinning and righted myself, swinging my foot along the ground. I guessed right this time. Zachariah followed my landing in a relentless attack, pressing his advantage.

Sparring with Zachariah was a bit like playing chess. I always had to anticipate his next two or three moves in order to stand a chance. Zachariah grew up fighting for everything in his life, which made him very difficult to beat. He always seemed to be ten steps ahead in a fight, having been in countless brawls over the course of twenty-five years.

I sighed gratefully as my leg tripped him up, causing him to land hard. I took the moment to regain my feet and lunged toward him, my fist aimed at the vulnerable spot between his shoulder blades. Faster than a viper, Zachariah pivoted on the ground and rose to a half-kneel position.

Damn, he was waiting for the attack.

Surprised, I didn't have time to dodge. His fist flew past my guard and hit my lower abdomen hard enough to shake the air around us. My forward momentum, combined with his counter, would have put most people out cold. It was a strike that was the perfect combination of relentless violence and flawless precision. A fight-ending strike.

Or at least, it should have been.

My new armor took the brunt of the force.

Confused? Let me page you back to yesterday.

*******

"Your revolver won't be done for a long..." Otta said, looking at Fayra's ruined gun again, "...Long...Long time."

"We have discussed that at length, my boy. Tell her your recommendation," said Yared from over Otta's shoulder. The old man stood with his hands braced on his desk, his eyes flashing from Otta to me, and then back to the twisted metal heaped onto his desk.

Otta did that sudden look around that I was swiftly becoming familiar with. I did my best to be patient while he considered the gun, leaning against the wall of the office. My heart leapt as I saw a small stool with a blanket folded on top still in the corner of Yared's office. The stool I had spent so many hours on. The old man had kept it all these years.

"Well...I would suggest new equipment in the mean time while I'm fixing it..." Otta said distantly, looking to Yared for confirmation. The old man nodded, a small smile on his lips. A smile of pride.

Otta nodded in silent reply to Yared, urged on by his confirmation. The boy looked around the office, his eyes calculating.

"However, I'm not sure I have something that equals the caliber of a 0.357 Thunderwood Storm Breaker with reinforced steel barrel and--"

I'll spare you the rest of Fayra's gun statistics. I'll have you know something, though. Otta's description of it could cure the most persistent case of insomnia.

"My boy," Yared said after several minutes of babble, "You're drifting. Back to the point."

"Oh," said Otta, "Well I guess I just don't have anything that's on the same level."

A corner of my mouth lifted as I gestured to Otta's Elemancer gun. The gun that could absorb the four elements and possibly end the world.

"How about that one?"

Yared's face darkened.

"That one is not fit for sale," he said in a tone the broached no argument. In answer, I took out my money pouch and placed it on the table in front of him.

"I need a weapon Yared--"

"That's fortuitous. We have plenty here--"

"None of them are like that. Not one."

Yared stood to his full height suddenly, running a hand throughout his hair. Otta looked between use like he was watching two fighters spar.

"He's right, you know. It's a bit of a prototype for now. I haven't tested it to it's full ability," Otta said hesitantly, looking as if he wanted to melt into the floor. Yared nodded in agreement, setting a hand on the boy's shoulder. I kept my gaze on the two of them, unperturbed.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," I said firmly, which elicited a snort from Myra. She, Ash, and Zachariah still stood to the side.

"Rowena taking a ridiculous risk? There's a surprise," the heiress muttered dryly.

"To be fair," Ash murmured in reply, "If she doesn't buy it, I will."

Myra laughed lightly, laying a delicate hand on her chest.

"With what money? I sincerely doubt they take vocal talent as currency here," Myra said, batting her lashes at Ash. A slow smile spread over the blonde's face as Zachariah groaned quietly. After a moment, Ash produced an intricately designed money purse. Myra's eyes widened in sudden rage as she recognized it, peering into her lightened handbag.

"Why you little--"

"Anyway," I cut in as I saw Myra mount for a lengthy argument, "I can pay for it. Name your price."

I opened my purse, allowing Otta to see the gold within. I hadn't missed the boy's threadbare clothes when he first appeared. I also didn't miss the flash of hunger dance across his face as he saw the gold coins inside my purse laying next to a thick wad of paper Brill. It was a chunk of the veritable fortune I made while bounty hunting. I tended to accumulate money quickly since I didn't really have anyone or anything to spend it on.

Otta continued to stare at the money as I took out a coin and let it roll over my knuckles.

Yared reached out, grabbed the coin, and closed the bag. A scowl pulled at his lined face.

"This is a dangerous game, little one," he said evenly, "Your father would not approve."

My grin widened.

"Yared, I already told you I want it. You don't need to give me more reasons to buy it."

I looked at Otta again, who was still looking at my money bag. Sighing, I looked back at Yared. The old man just gazed from me to Otta warily. His expression softened when he looked at the boy genius with clothes that likely hadn't fit him in years. A boy that was too thin. A boy that loved science and being an apprentice more than feeding himself.

I wanted to give him and Yared all of my earnings so they didn't have to work for my damn father anymore. Hells, I already would have done so by now if the old man would swallow his pride and take it. As if in answer to my thoughts, Yared let out another bone-rattling cough. Finally, I strode to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I love you Yared. You know I do, but I need a good weapon. A weapon that will protect me and give me an edge. This is the one that fits the bill," I said gently. Yared's shaking hand came up and gathering mine in his.

"I want you to have it, but I cannot allow a prototype like this to wander around indefinitely," he said just as gently, his eyes apologetic.

An idea occurred to me.

"Alright. How about I rent it until Otta fixes my gun? I'll return it when he's finished."

I paused, considering my next move. Finally, I pulled out Fayra's other gun. The lonely twin for now. I looked at it for long moments, my palms sweating as I set it on the desk next to my money pouch.

"You can take this as collateral," I said quietly. Zachariah stirred then, a warning in his eyes. He knew what those weapons meant.

"It feels like a crime to only use one," I muttered in explanation. After a beat of silence, he settled back against the wall in silent agreement. I nodded before turning back to the boy and Yared. The old man didn't miss the exchange, his eyes calculating.

"So? Do we have a deal?" I asked into the silence. Otta stirred and looked at his mentor, his master, in silent question. Yared's expression didn't change.

"It's you invention, my boy. This is your decision," Yared said gently, wiping some blood from his chin. Otta followed the movement before looking back at me.

"We split the profits, but it will cost a lot," Otta said. I could tell he was trying to be confident, but he sounded like a mouse trying to tell a lion what to do. I bit back a smile as I gestured to my very full money bag again.

"Is that enough?" I asked. Otta dropped the gun part he had been holding. After a moment of shock, he recovered and shot to his feet.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Y-Yes! But I have another recommendation," he said, looking at the twin weapons laying on his desk, "If you're not dual weilding anymore, you should have some armor. We have some Runic Armor in the back that should be around your, eh, size."

He gestured at my muscular physique awkwardly, averting his eyes as he began to mutter some numbers to calculate pricing. I saw Myra lean toward Yared, her eyes trained on Otta.

"He doesn't have many friends, does he?" she asked dryly. Yared shook his head in reply, making Myra utter a sympathetic sound. Rolling my eyes, I interrupted Otta's calculating,

"Otta, that's okay. I don't really need armor. I've never had it before."

It was true. In all my time as a bounty hunter, I had never thought to protect myself from being shot. Being a damned immortal with unparalleled healing abilities made that a small concern.

A wrinkle formed on Otta's young brow.

"So...you like taking damage and being in pain during a fight?" he asked in genuine confusion.

The retort I had died on my lips as Zachariah smirked. He shrugged as if to say He's got a point.

And to that, I could not argue.

*******

A day later, Zachariah and I were already putting the armor through it's paces as we trained. The torso piece bent and flexed with runic marks, spreading the shock from Zachariah's fight-ending strike. Don't get me wrong. It hurt like the hells, but at least I stayed conscious. I rotated in the air, curling my legs behind me as I braced my hands on his shoulders. Time seemed to slow as I saw the feintest hint of surprise cross his face.

I flipped up and over Zachariah, taking a quarter turn and gripping his shoulders to not allow too much distance to open up. Landing lightly on the balls of my feet, I wrapped an arm around his neck in a choke-hold. My other hand snaked behind his head to secured the hold as I use my body weight to do the work. Zachariah's hands gripped my forearms, but my new bracers prevented his fingers from digging in. However, it wasn't enough to knock him off his guard. Zachariah used his grip on my arms to lift us both up. He growled as he pivoted his torso sharply, making a perfect throw.

Suddenly, I found myself being flipped over his shoulder before he landed on top of me. The frozen patch of ground we had cleared cracked loudly as I landed flat on the earth.

Though I barely felt it, my arms loosened the barest fraction. It was all Zachariah needed. He wrestled free of the chocked hold and kick-flipped onto his feet, turning to strike me with another well-timed punch.

Only I wasn't there. I rotated behind him again, unhindered by the shock of the throw. I jumped, wrapping my arms around Zachariah in another choke hold as I used my legs to pin his arms to his sides. We struggled for several more moments, Zachariah twisting violently to break free. But I wasn't letting go this time around. Despite the cold, sweat rolled down my brow as I held and held, waiting.

Finally, Zachariah tapped out.

I was off him in a second, checking to make sure I hadn't actually hurt him. My entire body ached with fatigue from our sparring match, but already the ache was fading as I healed. Zachariah massaged his neck, rolling his head to stretch the constricted muscles. He eyed my new armor, letting out a low whistle.

"Well then," I said, as he coughed, "Do you think the armor was worth it?"

Zachariah's jaw tightened as he shrugged, rolling his shoulders.

I chuckled, brushing some dirt off my own shoulder. I didn't know why I bothered, though. The armor was immaculate. It was a flexible black leather that included a fitted torso with studded metal, bracers, leg greaves and tassets, and a helmet. I removed the helmet, shaking my hair out. I hissed as the cold air hit my my dampened locks.

"Yeah. Otta was right. The only reason I won was because I was able to endure your attacks," I admitted, cracking my neck, Zachariah nodded, looking back toward my house. Wordlessly, he started toward it.

We both sat on the porch steps, letting ourselves recover in silent companionship. I wanted to do another two or three matches just to see if the armor had any weak points. I had expected it to feel bulky, but it wasn't. It seemed to move with me at every turn. It even blended in under my duster coat. Nodding appreciatively at the craftsmanship, I stood and stretched again. I was still sweating from our match and knew I needed to be careful about hydrating. Especially in cold and dry weather like this.

"Zachariah, do you want some wat--"

I stopped myself as I saw where Zachariah was looking. His eyes were fixed on the Ethereal forest, seeing the trees sway in the frigid wind. Snow was a stark contrast to the obsidian bark. All the leaves were gone now and a thin layer of snow covered the ground leading to the trees.

In those trees was the Kenshi Elemancer Tribe.

Zachariah didn't respond to my question, his gaze contemplative. I knew what he was thinking about. I had been trying to distract myself from it the whole day.

He was looking at the place of his birth. The place he was shunned from because he was a halfling. A bastard.

I felt myself shake my head. If there was ever a person that didn't deserve the title "bastard", it was definitely Zachariah. Life had a twisted sense of humor for making him have to fight this hard to survive.

Sighing, I sat beside him again, my shoulder touching his.

"You want to warn them about the Royal family preparing for war," I said soberly. Zachariah nodded, his eyes still trained on the trees.

Death's voice drifted across my mind.

And I don't think I need to explain to you, of all people, what the cost can be.

I didn't know what Death's "cost" would be this time, but I had to be careful. In terms of power, I knew Death was in the upper tier amongst the Gods and Goddess of Luradia. I also knew she rivaled the God of Wrath in terms of dealing out punishment. I knew this was all connected to the Chosen who was murdering the Deified in some way. I knew it in the very pit of my being, even if I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle.

Death had made it clear she didn't want me meddling, and if I disobeyed there would be a reckoning from her. I still felt the ghost of the pain she had sent through my soul, making gooseflesh rise on my neck.

But I had decided something from the moment I heard about Luradia preparing for war. Maybe I would see Fayra again someday. Maybe I wouldn't. But would she really be happy to see me if I just stood by while innocent people died? The answer was easy.

No.

She wouldn't be happy to see me at all. It was one thing to make an ocean of blood from the countless bounties in Luradia to fulfill my debt. It was another thing entirely to take the easy way out, and allow what ever this Chosen wanted to come to fruition.

There was just one problem. How in the hells was I supposed to do it without incurring Death's punish?

I still had no answer to that question.

"We will, but not yet," I said after a beat of silence. Zachariah looked at me in confusion, waiting for me to elaborate.

"We're not even supposed to know about it, Zachariah. The information just fell into our laps. And besides," I said, glancing through the window. I could see Myra sitting at my table, books and notebooks spread before her.

"I have a job to do."

Zachariah's eyes slitted, and his muscles went hard as steel. I felt the weight of his eyes on me as I tried to explain.

"Someone is after Myra and her family, Zachariah. That someone happens to be a Chosen with insane abilities! I need to figure out how to stop him. I still hate the Deified, but I'll choose them over a race that tortured and enslaved humans for thousands of years."

"A race," Zachariah murmured, "That I, my mother, and my brother belong to."

"You mean the mother that ignored your existence for twenty years?"

Zachariah growled, looking back to the forest. We settled into silence again, but I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves. The wind blew then. It was softer breeze, and surprisingly warm.

He can't understand unless you tell him the full truth, Row.

My body went colder than the ice surrounding us.

Row. That was what Fayra used to call me when we were alone. I went still as the words drifted across my mind in the voice I longed to hear again. I was momentarily distracted, looking around in vain to find her. But of course there was nothing there. Nothing but a ghost.

"Zachariah," I began, pulling cold air into my abused lungs, "There's something I should have told you a long time ago."

He looked at me, his brow still creased in frustration. I caught the subtle hint of the betrayal he felt in his eyes. Even as I prepared to tell him, my body rebelled against the images they conjured.

A body with lines burned into it by a sadist's blade.

Her eyes already starting to cloud over, and tear stains dried on her cheeks.

A cigar burning a hole into her hat.

Pleading for help from the Town Counsel, all Deified, only to have them turn us away.

The smirk on the face of a rat who had betrayed Fayra from within the Bounty Hunter's Guild.

I wasn't aware of retching until I was doubled over, my hands shaking. I wasn't at the house anymore as I was pulled into my nightmare. The one I saw every night.

It is ten years ago, and I am a healer on the verge of getting everything I had ever dreamed of. But Fayra has gone out for a bounty, and not come back. She is two days overdue to come home. I keep pacing, hoping and praying the next set of hooves I hear will be Fayra's horse, Dawn.

But they never come.

I busy myself with patients, but know in my soul that something is wrong. It is an unendurable pain that penetrates my blood, beating through every vein. It isn't uncommon for Fayra two run late on a job, but two days? My hands keep returning to the new Mark on my neck.

The Mark that could save her.

Gods, I am so fucking helpless. There is nothing I can do.

The Mark pulses over my collar bone, begging to be used.

Night comes and Fayra still isn't home. And yet, that Mark still beckons. On impulse, I begin to pray to the Gods. I demand to be heard!

And then I am standing before a women of primordial beauty as she tends to a wide-spread garden.

Zachariah's hand settled on my back, returning me to reality. Fresh sweat covered my clammy skin as I panted. I didn't know if seconds or minutes had passed, but hated myself for this weakness. Memories shouldn't have this much control over me. I hated this insane illness inside me. I should have gotten over it by now, but no. In fact, it was getting worse.

Zachariah just kept his hand on my back, calm and controlled.

We were interrupted as the door opened, Myra standing there with a blanket wrapped around herself.

"Are you two done sparring yet?" she asked as she brushed an auburn hair out of her eyes.

I uttered "Yes" at the same time Zachariah shook his head for no.

Myra glanced between us in the ensuing silence, sensing the tension. She took in my breathlessness and then looked at Zachariah. Whatever she saw there made her clear her throat. She stood ramrod straight as she stepped back inside.

"Well then," she said, closing the door, "I'll just let you two finish. I need to talk to you when you get the chance, though!"

And with that, the door closed with a deafening click.

I managed to recover, finally standing up on willowy legs. Zachariah stood too, keeping that steady hand on my back.

"I have to tell you something about what happened to Fayra, and about what happened to me," I said haltingly through my panting. Zachariah waited patiently, listening to every word. His brow creased again as he did.

"It's hard to explain, but--" I stopped, nausea rolling through me again. Gods damn it! I just needed to say a few words! How hard could that be?

Get your shit together, I ordered myself as I took a final deep breath.

"I sold my soul to Death. She owns me until I pay my debt...Until I can see Fayra again."

I paused, but Zachariah seemed to understand, something dark crossing his face.

"She told me to stay away from the murders happening to the Deified. I'm pretty sure this is all connected somehow because the Elemancers are dying the same way the Deified are dying. And then this weapons shows up that has their abilities."

Another deep breath.

"I haven't figure out a way around the order yet," I said, turning away from him as my throat tightened.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you until now."

He didn't respond. After a few moments, I turned back to him. I expected him to be furious, but instead I found his face carefully blank. His throat bobbed as he met my eyes intently.

"So you want to help them, but you have to make sure Death doesn't punish you?"

I snorted.

"She's already taken everything from me. The love of my life, my soul, and all my hopes all lay in her damned hands," I paused to chuckle darkly, "I'm more worried about what she would do to the souls she already has. She at least offered to lessen my debt if I obey, though."

Zachariah resumed his silence, his eyes going distant again. After a long and slow blink he seemed to come to some sort of resignation.

"Alright," he said, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and revealing a muscular neck under his shock of red hair.

The world seemed to freeze as I saw what laid on his skin. Right above his collar bone.

A Mark.

From Death.

"Maybe I could ask the Gods for help."