Tim had been a studious child. As heir to the March of Drake, he'd grown up in the lap of luxury and attended the best healer schools in the kingdom. His world had turned upside down when his parents were assassinated by political enemies while Tim had been away, and if not for his childhood friend and closest companion being there to hold him as he cried and give him hope for the future, he didn't know what would've become of him.

His friend had always wanted to be an adventurer, and so when Tim graduated, he'd turned down an offer to join the Royal Guard and instead accompanied his friend, becoming affiliated with the Adventurers' Guild. The work was grueling and the lifestyle a sharp downgrade from the comfort he'd been used to, but with his friend at his side, Tim could've slept in the gutter for all he cared.

"I wish you'd take better care of yourself," he muttered as healing magic flowed from his fingertips into his friend's wounds for what seemed like the tenth time this week. "I can't cure death, you know." Adventuring was dangerous, he knew—the Guild regularly dealt with high-ranking threats, in fact. Facing a dragon alone, though? That'd been foolish, even for their number one hunter. His friend was strong, but this was ridiculous. "You should've told me. I'd have come with you."

Tim's jaw clenched. He was the Guild's most skilled healer, normally up to his neck with work. He couldn't go on jobs as often as he liked, so busy was he tending to the wounds of his fellows. But for his best friend, he'd have made time. He'd have been there. This was the one person he would protect no matter what. Always.