Riordan didn’t know what to say to that. Everything that came to mind initially was too vulnerable and sappy. He grimaced and changed the subject slightly, taking a leaf from Daniel’s playbook and going with humor. “Of course, I’ll need to find a pack that doesn’t want to murder me in my sleep within the first week of knowing me.”

Frankie snorted and replied dryly. “That does seem to be a high bar to pass.”

“Only because you wanted to feed me to a bear within moments of meeting me. Hell, you gave me to Mother Bear before you ever met me conscious.”

“Because you, boy, are a mess. Getting eaten by a bear would have been a mercy to you, though I’m sure you would have given it indigestion from pure stubbornness.”

Riordan really was a mess. His life was one big question mark right now. It terrified him and inspired him in equal measure. For almost twenty years, Riordan had known what his life would be: drifting through the world invisibly and impotently in a cloud of self-flagellation and martyrdom. Gods, he could get his head stuck up his ass sometimes.

Now though, Riordan existed as part of the world once more and he refused to go quietly back to his former passivity.

“What sort of shaman can I be, as a mess like this?” Riordan asked with a sigh.

Frankie stretched out a leg and kicked him in the shin. Riordan yelped and drew up his legs into his armchair so she couldn’t kick him again, even though it didn’t actually hurt him. Frankie mimed another kick anyway. “Get over yourself, boy. You are clearly destined to be a specialist shaman, one who lives in interesting times.”

“Isn’t that a curse?” Riordan grumbled, “‘May you live in interesting times?’”

“Yes,” Frankie grinned, “It’s also practically a guarantee for a shifter. If you live long enough, times will get interesting in your area eventually. Even for grumpy shaman living in rural corners of nowhere, as you’ve seen.”

That was true. The chaos of life spewed out challenges and blessings all over the place. All anyone could do was embrace the good, roll with the bad, and hope none of it killed you before you were ready.

Continuing on, Frankie said, Now, you are obviously drawn to conflict, by choice or just habit, but what role you have there is still flexible. What are your thoughts on scouting? What about magical cleanup, or lorekeeping?”

Riordan shrugged. “That I’ll likely end up doing at least some of that some of the time?”

Frankie’s eye roll was eloquent. Riordan tried to expand on his opinions honestly. Without overthinking it. Somehow. He had to admit that overthinking was getting to be a bit of a problem at the moment, especially with Frankie tossing entire futures he’d never considered at him. Riordan was quickly realizing that he had a certain lack of imagination, or maybe just narrowness of focus. He really should do something about that.

“Scouting feels too… lonely and doesn’t need to be done by me, though I can do it,” Riordan expanded as he thought about it, “Magical cleanup is something I’ll need to learn, because I’ll likely be called on to handle that for death magic. It could be cool, untangling and dissipating leftover spells, but mostly it’s cleaning up traces in the aftermath of problems instead of fixing the problems themselves. I think it would drain me to do that full time. Cleanup also includes a social aspect to it I’d rather avoid. Lorekeeping has potential. I know I want to do at least some of that for death magic, but I haven’t figured out the safest way to handle that information.”

Frankie studied Riordan for a moment in silence, thoughtful more than annoyed despite Riordan’s rambling commentary about the downsides of her suggestions. He did feel bad about that. She was offering him alternatives and he was shooting them down just as fast. Just… nothing felt right.

“Alright,” Frankie said, “I am going to say a word and I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind in response.”

“Free association?” Riordan asked with a raised eyebrow. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“You would benefit from therapy, but this is job counseling. I would send you to a professional, except they are less than helpful for magical jobs. I could still make you do a bunch of online quizzes if you would like?”

Riordan understood the internet, even if it had never been something he’d engaged with much, having not had a permanent home for most of its existence. He certainly remembered the jokes the team did back in the 1990s about the rise of personality-type quizzes that determined everything from what type of parent you would be to what song best defined you to what food you would be. He was just as happy not to have his career as a future shaman decided because some quiz labeled him a banana or some shit.

“I’m good. Toss your words at me, Frankie.”

“Hmm. ...Wisdom.”

It wasn’t the word Riordan would have expected her to start with, but he went with his gut response, trying not to overthink it. “Uh, legacy, instincts.”

“Pack.”

He’d expected that one, or at least something along that theme. That didn’t stop the sharp stab of longing that went with it. “Home, family. Belonging.”

“Problem.”

Another odd one. Riordan’s knee jerk reactions surprised him. “Solve, save, stop.”

Frankie’s lips quirked at his responses, but she still continued. “Dream.”

“Spirits,” Riordan said without thought, remembering the surreal feeling of talking to the spirits and the sheer awe at their existence. “Beyond the Veil.”

“I really do need more details about your experience beyond the Veil,” Frankie sighed. “It’s so rare to actually go beyond it safely and your perspective was unique.”

“Are we done?”

“Not yet. Lore.”

“Oral tradition, stories, knowledge keeping.” Riordan remembered the way the shaman of his birth pack had chanted the old stories. He’d dismissed it at the time as strange and boring, but now he understood much better.

“Purpose.”

“Help, save,” Riordan paused, struggling with a few other words that all felt equally valid. After a hesitation, one in which Frankie did not speak, he added, “...Teach, protect.”

“Teach?” Frankie said with mild surprise.

Riordan started responding before he realized that probably hadn’t been another word. He shrugged as he continued, “Guide, second chances, good choices.”

“Teaching is definitely a complex concept, yes,” Frankie smiled. “I wouldn’t have begged you for that, given your aversion to people.”

Riordan blushed and ducked his head. “Ignorance got me into trouble. I figure if I can help someone skip the mistakes I made, they can get on to making new ones of their own faster.”

Frankie burst out laughing loud and hard. “Oh, you will be a good teacher someday.”

“But not yet,” Riordan agreed with her silent implication, “I need to build foundations and wisdom and make some more mistakes first.”

“Yes. For now, it is the other words that are more relevant. What does saving someone or helping someone look like to you?” Frankie seemed genuinely interested in the answer.

These weren’t easy questions to answer, given they were all subjective and personal. Riordan tried to answer on instinct when his brain threatened to get in the way. “Removing suffering, I guess. I don’t expect to fix everything for everyone, but I want to take someone hurt and make them hurt less. To make things easier on them so they can go about being their best and happiest self. Removing obstacles to that too.”

“So your form of helping requires there to be a problem or pain with which you interact?” Frankie clarified.

Riordan considered that. “Yeah, for me. There are people who help by adding goodness to the world, but I don’t… It’s not me. I’m not a creator; I’m a fixer.”

“Both types are needed, and more,” Frankie reassured Riordan. It quietly bothered him how much he was grateful for that reassurance. “So we just need to figure out what sort of pain or problem you are going to specialize in. You’ve established that combat, cleanup, death magic, and lorekeeping are going to be secondary tasks for you. Likely, you will travel regularly, but depending on your eventual pack and specialty, people could also come to you. So what suffering are you going to remove? Something magical, like curses or magical disorders? Something physical, like threats to secrecy or assassination? Or something personally physical, such as injuries?”

“Medicine?” Riordan summarized the last, surprised. He’d never really considered that an option for himself.

“Don’t sound so surprised, boy,” Frankie snorted, “Medicine is a perfectly valid form of removing suffering.”

It… really was. Riordan had focused on destructive protection for so long, being a soldier, that reparative protection hadn’t seemed possible for him. Yet, it was more possible than creative protection. And meshed well with occasionally being in fights against death mages. But… “Shifters don’t need doctors. We regenerate.”

“Not all mages are shifters. And even shifters need assistance. If you could stabilize a shifter long enough for their regeneration to kick in properly, then you can turn a fatal injury into a severe but survivable one. Hell, boy, if you wanted, you could treat humans. Just keep the magic subtle if you do that.”

“Magic?”

Riordan was feeling especially dumb at the moment. This shouldn’t be so hard for him to wrap his brain around. He’d worked with field medics before, especially when he joined a human army before he went mercenary. On rare occasions, the shifters would go to a doctor for medicine or to set a bone or relieve pressure or something else. It could be risky, given shifters recovered notably quickly, but some things were better accomplished with more than just passive regeneration.

Using magic for medicine had never occurred to Riordan though, not past that same regeneration. He’d viewed that as less magic and more just part of being a shifter when he was growing up, which accounted for some of the disconnect.

“Shifters,” Frankie muttered, rolling her eyes as if she wasn’t part of the category she was so actively disparaging. “Yes, magic, Riordan. Did you forget that magic can heal too?”