Within the darkened depths of the administrative building, Aodhán lay curled in a fetal position, surrounded by thick black walls of null metal, etched with gray nullification runes that gleamed faintly. His hair, usually alive with electricity, now hung limp and dull around his head.

Every so often, he opened his eyes to scan the room in a futile hope of finding something new. Every time, he was met with disappointment, and each time he released a deep sigh that stirred the air momentarily before dissipating into the oppressive silence.

Oh, the silence! It was not just oppressive; it was maddening. But the absolute lack of activity was even worse. The sounds of Cyrus pounding against the null walls had ended hours ago, plunging Aodhán into a silence so absolute that it threatened to shatter his sanity. Time dragged unbearably, and once again, Aodhán opened his eyes, hoping for something—anything—to change. Nothing did. Another deep breath of frustration escaped him, though he hadn't truly expected anything different.

It had only been seven hours, thirty-five minutes, and twenty-seven seconds since he had been placed within the sink, but he had already run out of things to do. Initially, he’d been fascinated by the nullification runes, which were far more complicated than any runes he’d seen so far. They filled the entire room, pulsing subtly, and despite how suffocated they made him feel, Aodhán had spent the first three hours studying them before giving up.

The runes were so far above his level that even staring at them gave him a headache. He regretted that he didn’t have his practice note though, as he could at least spend the time practicing, perhaps even finish the whole runic alphabet since he had so much time on his hands. Alas, life wasn’t so nice.

After tearing his gaze away from the nullification runes, Aodhán had shifted his attention to the walls themselves. He had seen and studied null metal before; after all, it was the instrument coach Harvey tortured them with. However, these walls were slightly different in that they glowed. Not the runes this time; the walls themselves glowed with the same grayish light as the runes.

Aodhán wasn’t quite sure whether it was the walls or the runes that were suppressing him, but he figured it was a collaborative effect. He wondered, however, why the null armor they wore for gym exercises each morning didn’t have the same suppressive effects as this one did.

He had spent the next half hour contemplating that, just because he could and because there was nothing else to do. In the end, though, he had discarded the matter as a mystery far above his meager knowledge and then began building scenarios in his mind.

It was interesting at first, but he soon ran out of imaginative juice, and his mental characters grew stale. Now, nearly eight hours since he'd been placed within the sink, Aodhán had nothing else to do.

To while away time, he stared at his status screen for hours, reading through his skills and titles aimlessly while counting down the seconds on the clock displayed on the corner of his status screen.

Another five hours passed, and Aodhán was just about to fall into a black hole of depression when the door suddenly clanged open and moonlight streamed into the room, followed by the silhouette of the guard they’d met earlier. She pushed a tray of food towards him and growled out. “Wake up stormy. It’s time for dinner.”

Aodhán glanced at the tray of food but didn’t get up to eat the surprisingly appetizing dish. The guard stared at him for a moment before dropping the tray on his bed, muttering, “I’ll come back for the tray in the morning.”

That was all she said before the door clanged shut again, plunging Aodhán back into a darkness only illuminated by the faint shimmer of runes. Aodhán sighed and turned his gaze away from the savory meal.

He hadn’t realized just how much he’d needed the constant hustle and bustle he’d experienced for the past few months. There was always so much to do with so little time that Aodhán barely had the time to dwell on his emotions. The constant activity had kept him centered and focused, but now, with nothing to do and with nothing to occupy his mind, Aodhán felt that he now understood the meaning of mental torture.

After his imaginative juice had run out, his mind had shifted to less imaginative things. Bloodier things. Perhaps he should have been over the Raventhorn incident by now, but for some reason, his mind won't just let the matter go.

“History always repeats itself.”

The words of the eagle-eyed librarian echoed in his mind, but Aodhán banished them with a violent shake of his head.

“I’m nothing like him.” Aodhán muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the silent room. He didn’t want to end up like Az’marthon had, but with the way things were going, it seemed fate truly was the one pulling the strings.

“I could really use your advice right now.” He whispered into the silence several minutes later, hoping to hear Az’marthon’s fatherly voice again, if only to end the torture his mind was inflicting on him, but nothing came, and Aodhán wondered if the voice was gone forever.

He hadn’t heard the voice since that day in the tournament, when he’d desperately needed to push forward.

“Was that the trigger?” He whispered again, but when he still didn't receive a response, he shut his eyes in frustration and resisted the urge to bang his head against the metallic floor.

He was angry. But this time, the emotion stemmed from him alone. It wasn’t the searing rage he was used to, but it still simmered, enough to make his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He was angry at principal Zatya, and he was angry at Cyrus, but most of all, he was angry with himself for losing sight of his initial objectives, which were to escape the war, explore his new abilities in peace, and not end up like Az’marthon.

He had failed at the first, but the second and third were still attainable, and to do that, he needed to get rid of this rage simmering within him, master his bond with Varéc, and get rid of his growing apathy towards death.

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The latter was something he had noticed recently. At first, he’d blamed it on the twisted effect, but when that had passed and the numbness still remained, Aodhán had realized that he was cooked. It wasn’t very serious yet. He still got sick at the sight of blood or a terribly mutilated body, but he wasn’t as affected as he used to be, and Aodhán was very concerned. He needed to get rid of it before he became the very thing he was trying to avoid

The second was also doable. He just needed to speak with someone who had a familiar to know how they handled the intermingling emotions. As he thought of whom to speak to, he remembered that Principal Zatya had a familiar, and although he didn’t see it frequently, he had seen the bizarre creature before. Perhaps when he got out of here, he would speak with her.

That left him with the rage, which he believed would be a lot more manageable if his control over Varéc increased. The simmering rage was a boon if he was being honest, and Aodhán just wanted it to return to its dormant state rather than be rid of it entirely. He needed to be able to harness it anytime he wanted but be free of it whenever he didn’t. Was that too much to ask?

He contemplated the matter for hours before finally standing up to eat his food. After eating, he discarded the plate and returned to his bed, where he did nothing more than stare at the glowing walls and beg the ascendants for sleep. Aodhán wasn’t sure when he eventually drifted off to sleep, but when he woke up the next day, he found out that the tray from last night had been swapped with a tray of steaming pancakes and a pile of textbooks.

The fact that someone had walked in on him while he was asleep bugged him terribly, and for the umpteenth time, Aodhán cursed the nullification runes for dampening his senses. He picked up the textbooks and scanned them. None of them were relevant to his courses or particularly interesting topics; nevertheless, Aodhán was happy to have something to occupy his time with. He sent a mental thanks to the guard before picking up the tray and settling down on the bed to read the entire day away.

The first book was a hefty tome titled An in-depth study of dungeons and Rifts. It was an old book, written almost a century ago; nevertheless, Aodhán was interested to see what it contained and how different things had been compared to now.

With a grin, he picked up a slice of pancake and began reading.

Dungeons and Rifts are chaotic anomalies that spawn throughout the world, threatening the balance of life; if not, well monitored. Though they share similarities, they differ greatly in composition and nature.

Dungeons are stable, structured environments, typically underground or within spatial pockets. They resemble vast caverns or labyrinthine networks filled with traps, treasures, and powerful monsters. They are semi-permanent, with a distinct “core” that sustains their existence. Destroying the core collapses the dungeon.

Rifts, on the other hand, are volatile, tear-like distortions in reality that serve as portals to alternate planes of existence or dimensions. Unlike dungeons, rifts are unstable and prone to rapidly growing or shrinking. They often involve untamed and unpredictable environmental conditions only suitable for a particular class of awakeneds and birth creatures specifically tailored to said class...

Aodhán kept reading, actually enjoying the quietness of his mind as he soaked in knowledge he was already aware of. This quiet read continued until he reached a paragraph discussing corruption within the adventurers guild, which was at the time using its monopoly over public dungeons and rifts for profit.

Aodhán had always suspected the adventurer’s guild of corruption, but it seemed it had been even more obvious centuries ago. During their travels for several events around the kingdom a week ago, Aodhán had seen a few public dungeons that he would have loved to at least visit had they not been on such a tight schedule, but hopefully he would be able to do so after the examination.

After a few hours of reading, Aodhán suddenly came across a theory that stated that stable rifts were crafted from an intricate mesh of spatial and planer runes. The theory was simply referenced, but it piqued Aodhán’s interest so much that he made up his mind to find out more when he was released from this hideous place.

It made sense to Aodhán. However, he doubted even the lowest of rifts could be created with anything other than grand or elder runes. To affect and manipulate reality on such a level couldn’t be easy. But then that begged the question: if even evolved rifts were made of elder runes or grand runes, how intricate would such runes have to be to create a calamity rift?

He contemplated the matter for a long moment, but eventually had to file it among the growing list of things he wanted to look up when he eventually got out of the sink.

Despite the voluminous text, it only took Aodhán a few hours to completely finish the text, after which he took up the second textbook, which was a study on the anatomy of certain creatures most commonly found in low-level dungeons.

He spent the next few hours looking at pictures of several creatures, from goblins to drakes and even dragons. He read about their weaknesses and strengths, the chinks in their natural armor, and their common attack patterns. It was an interesting read, to say the least, and by the time he finished with the book, evening had descended.

He picked up the last book and grimaced when he realized it was an extensive study of cartography and the Lutian map. Aodhán had never liked geography, and he just couldn’t bring himself to read the book.

Discarding the book, he laid down on his bed and closed his eyes, choosing to meditate on what he’d read in the first two books instead. Time passed quickly this time, and before he knew it, night had fallen.

The door creaked a few minutes later, and Aodhán opened his eyes to see the guard holding his dinner. This time, Aodhán sat up and rushed towards the door in gratitude. “Thanks for the books. I really enjoyed them.”

The guard handed the tray to him and nodded. “I’ll return with more books tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much once again. The text on dungeons and rifts was interesting as well as the—

The door shut in his face with a loud clang, and Aodhán sighed. He just wanted to talk, goddamit. He hadn’t spoken to a single soul in almost two days now. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the tray and moved back to the bed.

The third day passed in almost the same manner, although this time he spent it reading about aspects and icons, a spiritual achievement that was still way above his pay grade. He slept peacefully that night, his mind filled with all the new knowledge he’d gained, and he began to think that perhaps this wasn’t a punishment after all, but a gift.

Aodhán woke up the next morning to the clanging of bolts and smiled as the delicious smell of roasted meat wafted to his nose. However, when he opened his eyes, an undignified scream ripped itself out of his throat, and he immediately jumped to his feet.

He’d been expecting to find a tray of sizzling meat before him; instead, looking up at him was a scarred child standing about a foot away from him. The child stared up at him curiously, but close observation soon revealed that this was no child; rather, it was a man in a child’s body.

The man-child had dull black hair with two long scars running down the length of his chin on either side of his face. The scars were jagged as if they hadn't been properly treated, and his facial structure was weird. The man-child wore an anti-nullification band around his wrist and sat cross-legged on a small wooden chair, eating a meal that was supposed to be his.

“Fear, shock, surprise.” The man-child stated as he licked his fingers and then proceeded to wipe those hands on his chest. “Not quite as unique as I'd been led to believe. I was expecting you to lead with anger or fear instead.” He held out a piece of chicken to Aodhán and asked. “Would you like some?”

Aodhán, who had been staring open-mouthed at the circus freak wannabe, finally found his voice and asked. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man-child smiled and licked his fingers again. "Hi, big human. My name is Helzarvauth, your new therapist.”