Lock stood on the battlefield that he'd just left behind, the impact lessened by it being a dream now.

How did he know it was a dream?

Well, Grandfather was sitting on one of the broken down trees completely whole, the last time Lock had seen him he'd been anything but. Completely whole that was.

Why, he'd been here and there and there, he'd been all over the place.

A grimace made its way onto his face. Joking about the dead, not really the most respectful of gestures. He knew that that was how Grandfather would have wanted it, but if he got into the habit of it, it may very well slip out while he was talking to someone who would not appreciate his humour.

He studied Grandfather a bit more, he seemed fairly realistic. Was this some sort of spiritual reconciliation he had to go through? Did all the people who killed relatives have dreams like this? Should he go sit down next to him?

A flash of black out of the corner of his eyes convinced him otherwise. Lock trudged over to the trees where he'd seen it and after walking past the tree line immediately noticed the girl leaning against one of them.

It was the same one, the girl with hair so black that it seemed to swallow the light around it. The only difference now was that she was clothed, in a strapless wine red summer dress that reached down to her knees and that the expression wasn't as dead as it had been the last time, there was a hint of sheepishness to be discerned from her expression. Only a hint though. He felt the urge to touch her hair again, but resisted it. It had killed him the last time, well, if one considered the end of a dream to be a sort of death.

Lock slumped down against a tree adjacent to the girl, keeping up eye contact with her the whole time. Black eyes, most black eyes were simply a very dark shade of brown, but he thought that he may just have a pair of legitimate black eyes before him now.

“So, what's with this dream?” Lock asked.

The girl continued looking at him sheepishly.

Had she only learned that one expression? Well it was an improvement over last time.

Why could he even remember the last time? Remembering past dreams while in a dream wasn't normal. Was it?

“He died. I thought you'd want to see him again.” The girl replied.

Oddly considerate of her, but, “From the moment of his death he has taken up a new chapter of his life within my heart. The gesture is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

The girl blinked at him in confusion and Lock woke up.

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't where'd he'd gone to sleep the night before. He was lying in fishing uncle's bed, in his cabin, on his ship. He let himself relax slightly.

The second thing he noticed was that everything hurt, and with that statement he meant everything. His body, his kidney, his heart. He held up his palms and looked down at his hands that seemed suspiciously clean for the act they'd committed. He felt clean all over as well actually. He struck back the blanket covering him to see that someone had washed him and dressed him in comfortable undergarments, that were slightly too big for him.

He sighed and stood up, he couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen asleep somewhere, only to find himself waking up back in his bed, having been carried there by a family member. Why, the last time it had happened was when he'd been out camping with his grandfather when he was seven years old.

An itch started to appear behind his eyes, and spread downwards until it reached his jawline, and then it disappeared. Lock scratched it, and his hand came away wet. He furrowed his brows in confusion before the realisation struck him.

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He was crying.

Concentrating on the feeling he explored it, it had been quite a while since he'd last cried, so he'd forgotten how it felt. It felt quite good actually, he sat back down and let his tears flow, watching them drop down onto the swaying floor, every drop that left his eyes felt like one less drop of sorrow inhabiting his heart.

The rate was quite slow though, his body would run out of fluids before his heart was empty.

Lock heard footsteps approaching, it was hard being stealthy on a ship, everything always creaked when one shifted one's weight, let alone when one walked. He looked up at the door that swung open to reveal fishing uncle, who looked like he hadn't gotten enough sleep and whose whole being exuded weariness.

“You're awake, good, I've been checking up on you every few minutes.” Fishing uncle said, while dragging a hand down his face. He sat down on a barrel next to the bed before continuing in a softer voice.”Can you tell me what happened?”

Lock pulled himself together and sorted through yesterday's events in his mind for a bit. Then he told the story. From his incapacitation of the three most incompetent bandits to ever grace this earth, to the usage of their corpses as poison sacks, he skipped over his new skill, it wasn't important, the exploration of the dungeon, the fight with the boss and then the fight with the Vídd and how it had ended.

Fishing Uncle blanched at that one.

“Vídd, isn't that one of the ruling families of Abrakshana?” He asked worriedly.

Lock nodded and considered the implications. While there were certainly some sort of magicks or skills that could lead the Vídd family to find the killer of one of their own, namely him, one also had to consider that the guy had blown himself up, and with him likely all the evidence.

Hell did anyone even know what he'd been doing? Probably not, or he would have received reinforcements during the fight. He hailed from a family of teleporters after all.

So first they'd have to notice that he was gone. Then find the place where he'd died, hard, considering there wasn't even a corpse left now, and then they'd have to somehow conclude or magic up the evidence that it had been Lock that killed the guy.

If they applied Occam's razor they might also come to the conclusion that the person whose chunks were now splattered over the clearing might have been the killer, and that Vídd had already avenged himself with his self-destruction.

The chance that they'd find out it had been him existed, but was fairly slim.

“I wouldn't worry too much about it. The chances of his death being followed back to us are fairly low. Make sure to not say anything incriminating though, yesterday never happened.” Lock said.

Fishing uncle visibly relaxed, before tensing up again immediately.

“How are you handling it?” He asked.

Lock looked down at his hands, which already felt more clean. It had been what Grandfather had wanted, his demise had just been slightly accelerated by the confrontation with the mage. All in all Grandfather would probably be fairly happy with how things had turned out, were he alive. He was still dead though, and at his hands as well, so he felt like shit anyway.

“You know, when you buy an ice cream, you know that you will eventually finish it, entering a state where you no longer have the ice cream. Intellectually you understand the fragility and eventual disappearance of the ice cream, but you're still sad when you notice that its actually gone.” Lock tried to explain with a metaphor, receiving a deadpan look in return.

“I understand what you mean, but that was horrible.” Fishing uncle said.

“I feel like absolute garbage ok. Like my heart was just trampled under a herd of angry bovines. I feel like, I don't even have the words to really describe how shit I feel.” Lock said, breathed in deeply, ran the sleeve of the shirt he'd pulled on over his eyes, it was itching again, and continued, “but I know that it can only get better. People die, Grandfather had it better than most, he died exactly the way he wanted to.” He finished.

“Not many can say that.” Fishing uncle agreed, he gazed into the air above Lock's head for a moment or two, before focusing on the younger man again. “You're handling this very maturely.” He said proudly.

Lock bit back the retort that this hadn't been the first time he'd lost someone, it was actually, in this life at least. If one disregarded the marked absence of his mother. Everybody died eventually, it was so natural, such a simple truth, but horrifying in its simplicity.

Even he would die one day, and with that he did not mean his body, bodies would be replaced, he would be reborn with all the important bits intact. What he meant with dying was that he would eventually stop rebirthing, something would come up, might be in a thousand lives, might be in a billion, but it would happen eventually.

Life was simply one long run from death, the only thing he could hope for was that he, and the people he cherished, would be running marathons instead of sprints.

“It was his time,” Lock determined, “if he had kept running from death he would have simply died tired.”

“If he hadn't died now it would have happened in a few days anyway.” Fishing uncle said with a sigh, before abruptly leaving the small cabin, leaving Lock to his thoughts. He came back swiftly though, clutching something golden in his hands. He handed it to Lock, who unfolded the bundle, to find himself staring at the golden fleece that he'd left behind unknowingly.

“I completely forgot about this.” Lock admitted as he ran his fingers through the material, finding no blemish on the thing. This would require further testing, if it had survived getting entangled in a bastard sword and a magic explosion it might be a more useful item than he'd considered.

“I noticed a golden glint on the shore when I dragged you on board. Took my fishing rod to the thing and dragged it onboard.”

“Thanks.”

Silence descended on the two, Lock simply continuing to sit there fumbling with the fleece, gazing absent-mindedly at the ground, fishing uncle standing there with a morose expression on his face.

“How about you?” Lock suddenly asked.

“Huh?” Replied fishing uncle.

“How do you feel, he was your father after all?” Lock queried further.

The only thing he received in return was a shrug, “We reconciled a bit recently, but your relationship with him was better than mine. If you really want to know how I feel about the whole thing you can basically take your own emotions, and dial them down a bit.”

“Alright, alright.”

Silence again.

“So what now, you can go register to be an adventurer in a week or so, right?” Fishing uncle asked.

“I probably won't do it immediately, wait a bit.”

“Why?”

“Need some time to adjust to my new stats and skills, I'm now a level eleven Assassin and a level seven Vanguard.” Lock said with mild surprise, he'd only checked just now, prompted by fishing uncle's question.

“That's good.” Fishing uncle said.

“Yeah."