Ever since Connor had washed up on the shore of this mysterious and faraway island, he had done nothing but train, meditate, eat, and sleep. After all, what else was there to do? Especially when he was their champion, a repayment for helping him in his time of need.

What he didn't need was a caretaker.

You're the residential healer of the League of Shadows, a branch that's broken off the League of Lazarus and League of Assassins for some time. Though such a healer was unnecessary for the league, you were tasked solely to heal Connor, who had not gained the trust of the League of Shadows completely to be even near their pool of Lazarus.

For the most part, you were also a member, a low-ranked assassin. The other part is you were also a spy, at least in Connor's mind, who was keeping an eye on him in case he ever stepped out of line.

It became a routine for the two of you. Every few hours, except nightfall, Connor would come by the hut to receive healing, whether it was for bruises from the fists or kicks of the league members or gashes on his body from swords and obstacle courses.

Today was no different as he stumbled into the stone hut, cradling his broken arm. He had already broken this wrist three times before in the last week. All at the same obstacle that he can't seem to pass. Meditation, rethinking, and revising the course had not been working at all. So he was coming back again and again to the stone building, in pain and irritated.

"Just get this over with and heal me." Connor voice was full of venom as soon as he sat down on the stiff bed of the medical hut. "I need to get back to training."