"Engage your core," Roy explained. "Keep your head still. Don't hold the bow so tight. Now let it fly." The arrow just barely missed the bullseye, and Roy grinned, giving his roommate of seven years a pat on the back. "Nice going, newbie. Keep that up and you just might dethrone me in, oh, twenty years."

Studying at the Academy as a single dad to a five-year-old was hard. Roy had fathered Lian at only sixteen, and the mother had vanished, leaving the infant girl with him. If not for his roommate having helped him with babysitting and studying both, he would've been overwhelmed.

Then, a year ago, an accident had claimed his right arm. Once more his life had gone upside down; again his roommate, and by that point his rock, had been there, not letting him give up, helping him with physical therapy and designing a magical prosthetic with fully movable fingers and partial sense of touch. Still, his months of recovery had held him back a year, and Roy felt self-conscious about the loss of his arm—he'd gone from best marksman in the Academy to barely able to nock an arrow properly.

His roommate had suggested magical projectiles, but he'd refused. Yes, he'd used magic to enhance his shots, but using a physical bow and arrows had been a point of pride for him. It wasn't until his roommate asked Roy for archery lessons that he'd begun to warm up to the idea. Watching someone improve like that had reminded him of what it'd felt like when he first held a bow, of the rush of hitting first bullseye. It still sucked to start over, but maybe... Maybe he could do it too.

"Hey, uh," he mumbled, awkwardly pulling away his hand to scratch the back of his neck. "Thanks. You know, for...everything. You've been amazing. I wouldn't have made it without you. Not sober, anyway." He paused, biting his lip. "And if you're still up for teaching me that magic arrow spell, I'm game."