I had always believed that my past actions had led me on the good path. The correct path. Not righteous by any means, but correct. The greater good, some say.

Killing someone else, even for justifiable reasons, taints your soul. It leaves a mark that some can see but few truly understand. Many groups embrace this, such as the orcish guards who kill and risk being killed on a daily basis or the Dokkalfar, literally Death Elves, who worship Chaldia, the very goddess who oversees such things.

Most things get easier as time and practice dictate. Not necessarily so with dealing death. Mechanically you improve over time as survival yields skill. But the emotional toll on the unprepared can be immense. Part of Penumbra training is developing the mental durability to continue the work. Some avoid thinking about it by preoccupying themselves with other tasks, like Winny, who dotes on Destin as though he were a brother, focusing on his well-being. Others, like Destin, mentally justify it as protecting others. They became a two-person team from necessity, not convenience.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

After the war, when the need for teaming up with Bartle and the rest was no longer necessary, I returned to working alone for the most part. This worked best for me because not having someone to look after afforded me better focus. That said, there are some things that are just too big to do alone. When the risk of failure surpasses the need of success, help becomes necessary. Cara helped me fully understand the power of assistance.

I don’t like asking for help, but I’ll be damned before I let my pride get me killed before I right the wrong. I love and miss you, Cara. Now and Always.

~Syler Dunn~