Aron treated them both well. Geon ordered one of his spicy, meaty monstrosities. Astria needed something only a little lighter, a tender chicken wrap with crispy greens, which she munched on while Geon visited some friends at another table. They'd seen him enter in a panic so he had to take some time to regale them with the story of their near-death. Astria was glad she hadn't joined him at that table. Geon was probably over there singing her praises – or worse, his own – and that would've been awkward to listen to.

As she watched him tell the tale, waving his arms in theatrical accompaniment, the afterglow of their escape hit Astria again, and she hid a gloating smile by stuffing another bite of the wrap in her mouth.

That moment in the pillar of light, being torn and rebuilt in a flurry of pain, terrified that she wouldn't have the mana to keep them going: that was a good memory. It prickled her when she relived it now, she'd probably have nightmares about it for while. But there was a gleaming core in that experience. She had sought out its like for her whole career as a professional field Healer, and she didn't mind reaching through the fresh barbs of remembered pain to treasure it. She saw herself as though from outside of her body, face screwed in concentration, shoving a tidal wave of Healing power through her staff while the mana wind she had called flowed around and into and through her, channeling the ambient mana of the world directly into life force for her and her partner. It filled her with pride, evidence that her time training up her runes and control had not been wasted. She was a damn. good. Healer.

Even as she glowed in the reverie, she remembered a tiny snag. That wind had been strong. Too strong for her to catch it all in her core as it rushed around, through, and past her. Based on how much longer her Healing field had lasted, she estimated that she had burned nearly twice as much mana as she could typically hold in her core. And so much more of that power slipped through her fingers. What if she could catch it all?

Could she train that? She knew there were ways to train the core to guide it towards various ends. When she had over-filled her core a little, right when the mana wind was starting, that was one of the methods used to increase the maximum contents of someone's core – but it typically required going to an environment where the mana winds were naturally more chaotic, and spending a lot of time sitting around cycling and yearning for the mana. It was supposed to be a very long process, but that wasn't the trait she needed to train, anyway. What she needed was a way to train the rate that her core could accept mana into it, once the mana wind was called.

Astria groaned. Core training techniques – like the alchemical inks used in rune inscription, or the crystal enchantments in focus weapons and tools – were a closely guarded secret by militias, noble families, and the King's Office itself. It will be a hassle to learn what to do, if it could even be done.

But she was going to try.

“That woman is wasted on you, Geon,” a low voiced told him, its owner looking across the bar at Astria sitting alone.

Geon raised his drink. “Don't I know it? I don't know how she's put up with me for this long.” He took a long sip, and sighed – satisfied, but also a bit disheartened. “I think with the soldiers coming back, she's planning on finding a new team.”

“I mean, she's said that before hasn't she? I feel like half the times we meet you here you're complaining about her attitude and how she's keeps implying 'you're shit' and 'she's leaving'.”

Geon chuckled, but nodded. “She pisses me off, sure, but the reason it makes me angry is that she's usually right. She wants to take all this a lot more seriously than I do. Most of the time, I'm fine, just, making rent doing Rank 1 contracts in our backyard and chilling here the next day. She's trying to be a Healer.” He waved his hands forward past his eyes to mime her narrow focus. “Capital 'H'. She is militia material, honestly. Strong militia materiel. She proved that today.”

“Guess you can't say you didn't see it coming, then.” Then Geon's friend paused, sipping his wine, cleared his throat, and raised his glass. “She'll be off soon,” his eyes and voice wistful, “Shopping for potions, preparing for her new life of toil as a Field Healer.” His voice rose to a confident shout. “And there, she'll meet a tall, handsome man!” he called, slowly standing to his own considerable height. “Barrel-chested and girthy...of arms!” He stood bravely in the path of the thrown potato wedges that lay siege upon his mock ego, and raised his hand to his chest. “And she will, one day, call that man: My Bradley.”

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Once his walls had been breached, the laughter had died, and he sat back down, Geon smiled at him as the rest of the table continued where their own, separate talk had been going on. He saw Astria peeking at the table from up near the bar, amused by the show, but it fell away after a moment as the performance ended, her thoughts turning inward again.

“That sort of relationship was never in the cards for me and Astria. She'd put up with me for work, but she pissed me off too much at the start, and I must have pissed her off a lot near the end. There was never a time when we met in the middle there, I think.” Geon took another big bite

Bradley eyed him. “So, uh, you're saying...”

“God, yeah, Brad.” Geon swallowed enough of his food to talk around it. “You can approach her, damn. You never had to ask my permission for that.”

Brad smiled and patted his arm. “I appreciate it anyway.” He drained his cup, and made like he was going to walk up to her right there at the bar, but he appeared to think better of it. He flicked his eyes back down to Geon. “Looks like you might have company.”

Geon turned to the sight of Astria walking towards him, looking grim.

“Ah, hell.”

As Astria watched Brad's clowning and his friends' potato assault, she saw Geon there, and came to a realization.

That was probably the last contract we'll take together.

In order to get the kind of experience and funding that she would need to join a reputable militia, she was going to have to move up to Rank 2 missions. When she came in tomorrow, or even tonight if she caught Glory on the way out, she would give her notice that she was seeking that promotion. And she'd get it, too. Healers usually had an easier time with those promotions already, and after tonight, there would be no question about her competency at her current rank.

Geon wasn't going to join her in Rank 2. At least, not right now. She didn't think he wanted that for himself anyway. He liked the day trips, and killing things in one hit. The coordination and training required for most Rank 2 teams, particularly those seeking out the higher-paying jobs, was a bit more than Geon's laid-back attitude could take.

Astria got up and weaved around the tables towards Geon. She saw his friend alert him to her approach, and when he turned and saw her, Astria gestured over at the bar. He tensed up, his face gone stony, dreading. He followed her over and sat down beside her. When Aron came over she ordered two drinks, and he poured them some whiskeys quickly – skipping his typical flourish, having sensed the mood.

“I'm moving on,” Astria finally said when Aron left them.

Geon felt something crumble in his chest. He had just been thinking about this possibility, sure, but he didn't expect it to happen quite so soon. It hurt. But it was also an event he'd long been preparing for. When she cut him loose, he still fell; but he'd cushioned the landing with expectation and his own empathy for her situation. She did deserve a better partner than him; she was spending valuable time keeping a single Rank 1 alive when she could be the backbone of a full, skilled, party.

But he wished a piece of him didn't see it as a righteous condemnation.

“I get it,” Geon said, holding the cup on the bar and sliding it between his hands. “You've been working towards moving up this whole time. I haven't exactly been helping you get there.”

Astria flushed. “It's- it's not like that. When Glory- when I, rather- it was-” she couldn't get the words out. Every way I can think of to say this is going to sound backhanded, at best, Astria thought. She tried anyway.

“Glory put us together because I wanted to work with someone green, who was – in Glory's mind – struggling. I didn't just want a partner, I wanted to keep someone alive. And I believed that a part of that job was to be a teacher as much as a Healer. Villara has this thing she says, about serving customers at the weapon booth. She told me that serving her customers is as much about teaching them about what they actually need, as it is about selling them weapons. Watching the way she works inspired me to attempt the same thing. I thought, 'Maybe the best kind of healing is the kind you don't have to do, because your charges learned how not to get hurt anymore.'”

Astria cradled the cup in her hand and swirled whiskey around the ice cube.

“I think, in the end, I wasn't a great teacher.”

Geon's face had shown a few different emotions while Astria talked: hints of betrayal, indignation, interest, and understanding flashed across his features as she spoke. As annoying as it was that Glory had picked him out as a project for her, it was more annoying that, even now, she was probably right to have done so.

“I guess I can admit that I wasn't a particularly great student either,” Geon held his glass up towards her. “But I will say: you are a great Healer.”

Astria's eyes sparkled with an intimidating ambition, and she clinked her glass to his.

“Damn right.”

They both drank.