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Thomas stepped forward cleared his throat. "The last time? Do you mean you were alive a hundred years ago?"

Alexander clicked his tongue. "I apologize for my disciple's ignorance." Thomas shrunk back as the general turned to him. "Kilot here fought alongside the hero and helped save the world over a century ago. Treat him with respect."

Kilot looked to Thomas as if noticing the young noble for the first time, looked back at one of the crates, then back to Thomas. "You are…Lord Virility's heir, right? I got a fresh batch of deadly weapons for you, courtesy of the general."

Thomas nodded. "Thank you. Are you familiar with my family?"

Kilot took out a crowbar and jammed it into one of the boxes. "Not until recently. Ever since the coup, the Kingdom's craftsman and suppliers have been "encouraged" to produce more for the war effort. As part of that I helped arm all of the Virility guards. The only weapon I put an actual effort into was Jameson's. He sticks to Lord Virility's side like glue." Blue life essence condensed around Kilot's arm. The box creaked and groaned, bending but not breaking. "Now I can proudly say that I've armed an entire noble family, including you if I can get this damned thing open."

"Need some help?" Alexander asked, stepping forward, but the Dwarf glared him down.

"I might be old, but I can still open something as simple as a crate." He tossed the crowbar aside, reeled back his bandaged arm, and punched a hole into the wood. "There we go." He tore the lid away to reveal an assortment of bows, crossbows, and guns, each one with blue runes etched into the frames.

Thomas made his way around Alexander, leaned towards the crates, and reached for a weapon only for Kilot to slap his hand away: "Wrong crate." The Dwarf turned to Alexander. "Is this what you were asking for?"

Alexander made his way over and frowned. "Yeah. It's perfect." He rubbed his eyes. "Those Enforcers are going to be so much more of a pain after today."

Thomas glanced back at the crate lid. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Kilot shrugged. "I don't have any feeling left in that arm." He let a bit of his bandages go slack, showing a partial bit of bone with bits of plant connecting it to the shoulder. Thomas winced at the sight of it. "It doesn't tire either. I can go on for days." He flashed a mischievous grin, and Alexander grimaced.

Thomas cocked his head to the side. "Am I missing something?"

"A bit of hair on your chest apparently." Kilot dug his hand into another crate and yanked the lid away. Thomas couldn't turn his gaze away from that arm. It might have been the way the plant moved around the bone or the blackened bits, but something familiar rose up in the back of his mind.

Alexander slapped Thomas on the back of the head. "Stop staring."

Kilot looked over his shoulder and chuckled: "It's alright. I know that the arm is…completely disgusting. Even I can't stop staring at it and I've had this for a year now."

"Why don't you get a healer?" Thomas asked.

"Because magic has its limitations," Kilot responded. "Although, I had the chance for a better replacement a decade or two ago. I arranged a meeting with a famous healer by the name of Sozo but she…lost it." He wrapped the bandages tighter around his arm. "I'll take whatever I can get as long as I can get the job done."

Thomas rubbed his chin. looked at the same hand which Kilot had slapped away. For a moment, he could have sworn that a small black cloud surrounded his hand, but it was probably just the black powder. Probably. "Yeah. I just…you smell familiar. I can't put my finger on it."

Kilot took a full step back and sent a worried look Alexander's way. "If you don't me asking," Alexander changed the subject with the tactfulness of a brick through a glass window. "How did Jameson look the last time you saw him?"

"Ah, the lad. He looked a little haggard but seemed to be keeping up." Alexander's neutral expression momentarily cracked a smile.

Kilot pried open another crate. Before Thomas could look inside, the Dwarf was already handing him its contents: daggers, throwing knives, hand crossbows, quills with bolts, and even a longbow. He thanked the Goddess that they were all sheathed and unloaded because he could barely hold them all. Just when he thought that he had everything, Kilot placed one last dagger onto the pile. Like a house of cards, everything tumbled to the ground.

 "You better pick your weapons up before they rust, cause I'm not a charity." Kilot smacked his forehead. Why was it always the head?

"Wait," Thomas said as he gathered the weapons, recognizing a theme. They weren't unlike the weapons that Dag carried on him. "You're giving these to me?"

"Of course you idiot!" Kilot barked and slapped the back of his head again. "Why else would I give them to you? Alexander had them made especially for you!"

And with that final slap, the fractured memories knocked back into place. Of course he found the arm familiar. Of course he was drawn to it like a moth to the flame. Of course he forgot because he had died. He died and Doevm dragged him back. Thomas put his hand over his heart. It was beating but his skin was cold.

A hunger rose up as the smell of his own blood wafted into his nose. He swallowed the hunger back down as soon as it surfaced, yet it was growing. It had been growing for a while, but only now could he feel its pull. Everything had a price, and the greater the benefit, the greater the cost. A line of drool dripped down his chin as he turned his gaze to Kilot.

Fresh flesh.