Noa couldn't help but be frustrated, a buried anger bubbling in his gut. He'd been unable to stock as much food as he'd wanted over the week, and the blizzard bore down on him like an ancient god of chaos. It was frigid, every step laden with stinging toes and fingertips. His throat was sore, each breath scraping against his esophagus in ragged pants of exhaustion.

A week, and all he had to show for it, all he had to weather the storm was half a rabbit, three fish of varying species, and two squirrels. For a human, that was, at most, just shy of a week's worth of food. For a draconem, with their fast metabolism and larger body mass, this storm was a death sentence.

Regardless, Noa couldn't stay out in the storm for much longer. Already, his scales started to bleed through the illusionary pigment that laid over them, curling against the cold. Soon, they'd start falling off, and rivulets of deep, dark crimson would speckle the snow beneath him.

Noa was nearly to his cave when the sound of a gunshot pierced the blizzard haze like it didn't even exist. At first, Noa thought one of the soldiers had stumbled across him, somehow, in the middle of the storm. Only after a couple minutes of reflection did he realize the sound came from further down the mountain.

A forked tongue flickered from between Noa's lips. The tangy scent and taste of human blood stung his sensitive palette, and he grimaced at it. Hesitation rooted him in the snow as he continued tasting the air.

Someone needs my help, he thought to himself.

Someone human, came the argument like a loyal dog having been called.

The wind around him seemed to stop in time, the raging tempest dying with a whimper. Walking through the snow, weightless as she trailed over it without sinking into it. She wore a simple woven dress with a pair of thick, raggedy trousers beneath it. Boots covered her small feet, mittens her dainty fingers, a knit hat snug over her long red-brown locks.

Revenge for the past does not change the future. We are healers, protectors of life, and those who cling to it. We do not bloody our hands in the name of murder but in the name of repair. We are the light to the disparaged, the last hope to those upon Death's grand doorstep. 

Noa's mother was wise beyond comprehension, her compassion an ocean with no end. As such, leaving the wounded human wasn't on the table. With an aggrieved sigh, Noa blinked away the Remembrance and began tracking the scent.

Before, the distinct smell of multiple humans had invaded Noa's nostrils like a plague. Now, though, there was only one whose blood continued to warm the air as Noa drew closer. As he did, he slowed and took his time taking in his surroundings. With the snow as heavy as it was, it was doubtful that anyone else was still out there. But one couldn't be sure when it came to humans. Some would die trying to bring him in rather than living with the knowledge that they couldn't.

A strange concept to Noa, with his family being comprised of so many healers. Revenge. The exchange of sorrow and agony and so much blood that no one remembered who started it in the first place. The humans were adept at it, and while Noa didn't grasp the concept like perhaps he should have, he knew draconem were just as bad.

It was why his parents wished so desperately to continue their practices. Why they taught Noa and his younger sister everything they knew.

And now, it was why Noa peeled back thick boughs of needled evergreen and prepared himself to save the man bleeding out in front of him.

Only faint breaths wheezed from the man's lips. His body temperature was rapidly cooling, and Noa knew he had little time before this wound grew fatal.

Quick fingers undid the man's backpack. The supplies would have been nice, but it would only slow Noa down more than he already was. Thankfully, his charge was small and relatively light. Pulling the stranger over his shoulder felt like nothing beneath Noa's incredible strength. He proceeded with urgency, each step faster and faster as the blizzard began its full assault.

"Fuck my life," Noa hissed with disdain as he trudged through the growing storm. Winds lashed at his face, stinging shards of snow tore at his scales, and he could feel the first few tear away from his skin. He gritted his teeth in pain but continued forward as blood dripped down his face in fast, streaking streams before freezing in the cold.

Of course they'd been scalp scales. Of course.

The blood's course down Noa's face wasn't something he needed to stop and fix right away, so he didn't. He continued, letting the blood soak into his scarf. Behind him, the vibrations of the human talking or groaning in pain rattled Noa's spine. The feeling of slow breaths and a fluttering heartbeat drew immediate concern, but there wasn't anything Noa could do until he got to the cave.

Thank the gods; it was just a couple of arm's lengths away.

Noa stumbled into his humble abode, lighting the fire pit with a swift click of the rocks behind his molars and the inner gases of his stomach before easing his baggage onto the thick bed of furs and thrifted comforters. A spare sheet was slipped beneath the man's body to prevent the mess Noa was about to make, and he set to work.

Attachments seemed to have been formed by the man's clothing and his skin, as taking them off felt like a surgical endeavor. It took more time than Noa had, so he only focused on getting to whatever wound hid beneath the fabric. After peeling back the man's shirt, the overwhelming metallic scent proved Noa's theory correct. He'd been shot, likely by his allies.

But Noa didn't dwell on that realization. He could work with a bullet, enough of its earthy material willing to bend to Noa's will. He closed his eyes. Reached out his long fingers and let his instincts search for the bullet.

It was wedged between two separate spinal disks. Noa would have to be incredibly careful in removing it to decrease the chance of paralyzation. If the guy wasn't already dead, that was.

Noa could feel shredded bits of the bullet tear through the bruised flesh. There wasn't any way around that, as the bullet had terribly splintered upon its impact with the bone. Blood spilled from the narrow hole as the bullet continued tearing through the narrow canal.

I'm going to have to use it, Noa thought with a frown.

You don't have to, came the answering voice of a soul deep within Noa's core.

He would've frozen at that familiar voice if it wasn't for the loud clack of the bullet hitting the cave floor. Heaving a breath, Noa put all his concentration into the now-eviscerated wound. He willed the tempest that had laid dormant for so long to explode into life, and it answered, writhing beneath his skin, skating through his veins.

Oh, how long had it been since Noa felt this carnal power? This ancient rolling storm of euphoria and excitement and the thrill that came with the magic of Earth's destroyed sister world. Alasia, a parallel world where magic flowed in abundance. Beat like the heart of some ethereal entity.

Earth had only a withering flow of it. Slow to absorb, never anything of substance. Most draconem these days couldn't even accumulate enough for a complete Shift in their pointless skirmishes with the humans.

Noa wasn't most draconem. His magic reservoir was meant for moments like this.

With a single, whispering sigh, Noa urged the magic to flow into the open wound. He was careful to feel around with the pulsing sixth sense at his command, finding what needed immediate mending and what could be left to heal on its own. Gentle threads of his earthy magic sewed those wounds that needed immediate attention. Wove the flesh back into itself and encouraged the healing process to exceed usual speeds.

It took a good hour of concentration to do what needed to be done. Magic had done a lot of necessary internal repairs, but Noa chose to sew the wound shut by hand and dress it like a normal wound. He'd already used much of his magic and couldn't afford to continue using it on unnecessary fixes. A careful hand lifted the man from the bed while the other expertly wrapped the wound. Water that had been warmed to a pleasant temperature soaked into the towel Noa had before he used it to begin cleaning the blood that wasn't around the wound from the man's exposed body. Several flecks decorated his cheeks, and a new but minor head wound revealed itself under thick swaths of blood.

Slowly, it crept upon him. A feeling of familiarity the longer Noa looked upon this tortured face.

Grimsby. The elite soldier sent from overseas.

Noa stumbled back, knocking the bucket of water over. It steamed over the colder rocks beneath it, but Noa hardly acknowledged what had happened. His heart pounded with animalistic fear, and a feral growl encouraged him to kill this man before he could continue training his squad of murderers.

Fear is something felt by all of us, Rowanoa. It can bring out the worst in anyone infected by its poisonous spore, driving us to do things we never imagined we could do. And when it is proven, when our fear manifests itself before our eyes, we grow violent. Vengeful. We wish to destroy that which holds our fear, yet do not take the necessary precautions to keep the innocent from getting caught in the crossfire. If you let them consume you—the fear, the rage, the revenge born from it—you become no better than the object of your fear. You become the object of someone else's, and the cycle continues. 

Do not contribute to that circle of misery and suffering, Rowanoa. You're stronger than that. Better than that. I know your heart will keep you steadfast in your kindness and compassion. I have no doubt you will face fear in this world of madness. But I also believe in your capability to step over it. 

Noa gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated sigh. His mother's soul seemed insistent on saving Grimbsy's life….

A whimper peeled from his heart. His mother's soul…had he really given up hope they were alive?

Perhaps. It'd been years since Now felt the pull of his mother's magic or the erratic behavior of Feya's.

Despair gathered in his heart. Noa accepted it with open arms, let it settle heavy in his gut. There was nothing he could do about his family right now. He had a patient to attend to.