There Is No Joy In Receiving Or Giving

Asan was sitting on a log, looking at the fire in front of him. The ember starts to spark up from the charred logs. He had gave it to Fen. Why did she need it? He didn't know and didn't care. "Be glad that ya my friend, I'm giving ya a discount," He hears himself speak. That was a bloody lie.

The smell of burnt flesh was obvious. He always smelled it when his father always ruined his mother's catches. "Are ya serious? Ya know how long it took me to track that down?" He still hears his mother's disbelief even now.

He smiles, as his jaw hinges awkwardly, only for it to get cracked open more with a fist. "Yer bloody smiling? I knew yer were crazy Arrow. But to this extent? It's surprising."
The burnt smell wasn't coming from a kitchen, from a brewery, or from an accident. It was coming from him​

Asa-no Arrow starts to close his eyes. The figure waves his hand dismissively, and the other figure forcibly shoves a cloth under his nose. Arrow coughs, his throat burning. His eyes opening again.
Arrow starts to stare at the green stained vials that were used on him.

The figure walks out with a grin as if he was expecting something
The other figure laughs and raises the club again to bring it down on Arrow's head

The tall figure walks out the door, heading towards the center of the camp. He sees a small fire erupt from the place he left a moment ago. The figure stops walking and smirks, turning around.

Arrow limps out, now holding a rapier. He approaches the single figure in the center of the place he once called home. Arrow rushes towards the one he once considered a friend. Arrow extends his blade towards the figure. Dragging a bloodied man beside him. The figure stares back at him, a smile lighting his face, and he opened his arm as if for a hug. "Now there's the Arrow I know! You've returned." He grabs Arrow and brings him closer, and slips several vials of Jīnyú dú into his hand. The figure whispers, "Hope yer like your farewell gift."
​

He stares at the few vials of the cloudy green liquid in front of him. They seemed to taunt him, the silent laughter that only he could hear. He glances at the reflection of himself in the glass of alcohol he was drinking from. He tightly grips his hand around the glass, cracking it. The shards now digging into his hand, and the drink he was holding now spilling. He sticks his hand in the fire, the alcohol catching it ablaze. He stares his hand, now engulfed in flames, waiting for... waiting for anything. He dryly laughs. He douses his hand, now red and covered in burns, and walks out toward the Nook to get another drink.