Aodhán stared at the man-child in confusion. Now, this was no normal confusion. His brain wasn't just taking a coffee break; it had literally resigned, packed its box, and left the scenario without looking back.
Never in the last three months since he’d appeared on ÆFYMN had he ever expected to hear the word therapy, and he certainly hadn’t expected it to be offered by a guy who looked like the physical manifestation of trauma itself.
Therapy was for Earthlings, not for awakened beings who could level a city without a second thought. Then again, maybe awakeneds needed therapy even more than Earthlings because of the twisted effect and all. Aodhán imagined Az’marthon would have greatly benefited from it.
That didn't detract from the fact that it was a bizarre concept to encounter in a world like this, and Aodhán was completely at a loss on how to handle it. Ascendants and calamities like Az’marthon might need therapy, but not him. He hated the thing. Therapists were like snakes, always manipulating and wanting to discuss matters best left unsaid.
This was obviously not his first time seeing a therapist. After he’d been brought to the monastery by those travelers, the monks had tried to help him mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. They had failed on all accounts except the second, and after his 11th birthday, they had eventually relented and sent him to see a therapist, even though according to master Gyatso, therapists were heathens who would burn in hell for all the good they pretended to do with people’s minds. Aodhán had thought master Gyatso probably needed the therapy more than he did at the time.
For all of Aodhán's hesitance and insistence that he really was fine and didn't need a therapist, the monks were adamant, and in the end, Aodhán had been led to see a sketchy-looking therapist in the city who had been able to poke at his trauma with alarming ease. Perhaps if he had kept an open mind, he might have liked it, or maybe even enjoyed it, but he’d hated it.
The sketchy old woman was a demon. All she’d ever wanted to talk about were Aodhán’s parents and the events surrounding his life before he'd gotten into the forest. Those were memories Aodhán had a hard time even remembering, talk less of discussing.
The memories were easier to talk about now, but at eleven, they had hurt like a knife to his heart. The pain might have become easier to bear, but Aodhán still wasn’t comfortable talking about his life with people, much less with sketchy-looking man-children who ate other people's meals while they were asleep.
He had even had trouble discussing the matter with Daruk, who was the person he trusted most in this world, and that was saying something. Maybe he did need the man-child’s therapy after all, but Aodhán didn’t want it.
He glared at the scarred man and replied. “I think you’ve got the wrong prison cell, Helzarvauth. I have no need for your services.”
Helzarvauth stared at him silently for a moment before letting out an eerie smile. “That’s a lot of emotions you just cycled through in the last few seconds. Confusion, anger, fear, distaste, nostalgia, sadness, regret, and finally denial.” He picked up another piece of roasted meat and continued. “Even if I thought I was in the wrong cell, the rage simmering beneath the surface of your emotions definitely identifies you as my client.”
Aodhán's eyes widened, and he realized the situation was even more dire than he’d imagined earlier. He staggered backwards and cursed. “Fuck! You’re a freaking empath. You shouldn't be here. This is a private cell!”
“And here I thought you were smart.” Helzarvauth tsked, sniffed the air theatrically, then clicked his tongue. “It seems I was mistaken.”
“What?”
"Never meet your heroes, I suppose," Helzarvauth muttered with a strained grin, viciously tearing into a chicken leg. Aodhán, on the other hand, was caught up on a single word: hero.
“Hold on, I’m your hero?"
“Ascendants help us, no!” Helzarvauth laughed, pacing the room as though inspecting it for hidden emotions. “You’re far too weak to earn that title.”
Aodhán frowned, offended by the offhand statement. He had nothing against Empaths; after all, Aldric was one himself; however, Aldric was a respecter of boundaries when it came to family. He never delved too deeply into their emotions, and even if he did, he'd never teased or probed them about it.
Aodhán had no problem being friends with an Empath, but Helzarvauth was the exact kind of Empath he feared. The nosy, always in your business kind, that was always prying for secrets, and since Helzarvauth was so much stronger than Aldric, it was to be expected that he could sense Aodhán’s emotions even better or perhaps even read people's minds like Aldric could. Aodhán couldn’t have that.
Making up his mind, he glared at Helzarvauth and said. “I appreciate your concern, but I do not need a therapist. I am perfectly fine, both physically and mentally.”
Helzavauth waved a dismissive hand and laughed. “Nonsense! Everyone needs a therapist. Especially someone with your… colorful emotional palate.” He sniffed again. “Ah, yes... so much guilt and anger. And there’s something deeper, isn't there? Ah, pain. But we’ll get there later.”
Aodhán scowled and began moving towards the entrance. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh, but you are,” Helzavauth grinned, casually crossing his legs on an invisible stool. “You’re just not ready to admit it to yourself. That tight knot in your chest? The one that gets worse whenever you think of her—Lupin, wasn’t it?”
“Aodhán flinched, his anger flashing briefly. “That’s…stay out of my business.”
“Ah, so it is Lupin,” Helzavauth grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe I nailed that on the first try. And that simmering rage? Oh, you’re more frustrated with yourself than anyone else. Still feeling guilty about the whole Raventhorn situation, aren’t you? And that lust! Who’s Meredith?” He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if savoring the cocktail of guilt and desire swirling around Aodhán's gut. “Mmm, the sharpness of it. Absolutely delightful!”
Aodhán’s face flushed crimson as Helzarvauth spoke, but his emotions flatlined the moment he mentioned the Raventhorn event. Barely thirty minutes in, and this man-child had already unearthed half his secrets. He couldn’t let him dig deeper—the Raventhorn incident was bad enough.
“How can I bribe you to stay out of my business?” He asked, his voice tight. “What do you want? Money? A discussion about my familiar—
Helzarvauth waved a hand dismissively. “I already know all I need to know about your business, and you can’t bribe me to keep out of your business. I’m here to help.”
“I don’t want your help!” Aodhán growled. “I’m fine. Do you see me spiraling out of control? I’ve got it handled. Principal Zatya shouldn’t have called you.” What the fuck was she thinking?
Rather than respond directly, Helzarvauth sniffed the air and muttered. “Fear, caution, fear, fear again. That’s a lot of fear.”
“Did you not hear me?”
"Oh, I did, Aodhán. As you well know, in the Advanced class, awakeneds are no longer prone to such mundane deformities.”
Aodhán wanted to blurt out that the man-child was the exact definition of deformity, but he held his tongue. He wasn’t that cruel. Helzarvauth, however, picked up on his emotion and scowled. “And here I thought you were a kind little boy.”
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“Well, I’m not. You should leave.”
Helzarvauth clicked his tongue, and his grin widened. “Oh, but I can’t, Aodhán. Our session is yet to begin, and we still have a lot to discuss. Like your loss of control three days ago and your fight with Cyrus. You were ready to kill him. You would have done it if Rahim hadn't shown up. Am I wrong?
Aodhán looked away. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Don’t I?” Helzavauth countered, now pacing leisurely. “You’re a seventeen-year-old storm awakened who bears a lot of guilt for the deaths of a few sleepers and unimportant awakeneds. You are also quite famous for bonding with a familiar at the evolved tier, and you are so good at pretending you are handling it all so well, aren’t you? You’ve got so many unresolved emotions that I can’t literally see them clinging to you like dead weights. Not to mention the added emotions that bleed in from your familiar and then the new perk... He sighed and shook his head. “You need my help, kid. Now sit down and let me help you.”
Aodhán closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to deny the truth in Helzarvauth’s words, and for the first time since the man-child came in, Aodhán let himself be a little less guarded. “My anger at Cyrus was justified. He had it coming.”
Helzarvauth’s playful smirk slowly vanished, replaced by a curious professional mask. He took out a notepad from his spatial space and said, “Let’s discuss that. Perhaps before the end of today’s session, we can untangle all these emotions tied to Cyrus.”
Aodhán still felt a little anxious, but he trudged back to his bed and sat down. “What now?”
“Let’s talk about Cyrus. What was your first interaction with him like?”
Aodhán frowned and tried to remember the first time he and Cyrus had ever spoken a word to each other. He grimaced when he realized that his first conversation with Cyrus had literally been his first fight with that spatial mage. He narrated the whole “limit” confrontation to Helzarvauth, and when he was done, Helzarvauth nodded. “So Cyrus was aggressive, condescending, and violent. I take it your interactions devolved from there.”
“Yeah.” Aodhán shrugged. “But it got worse recently. I mean, he’s never liked me, but after the break, it’s like he hates me.”
“And how did you handle that?”
Aodhán scowled. “How was I supposed to handle it? I ignored him until...
"You lost control?” Helzarvauth finished uncertainly, but Aodhán shook his head. “I was perfectly in control when we fought. I was just sick of the whole thing.”
“You mean after you almost smashed his girlfriend’s skull to dust?”
“That… that was a mistake.”
“So you did lose control?”
“Yes.” Aodhán replied through gritted teeth. “After the tower challenge, my bond with Varéc deepened, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late. It no longer matters. I’ve found a solution to it. All I need to do is gain more control over Varéc's emotions, and I’ll be fine.”
Helzarvauth nodded and wrote something in his notebook. “I suggest you do that as fast as possible. Dealing with one emotional pool is hard enough, let alone two.” He pursed his lips and continued. “With the bleeding emotions sorted, let’s talk about that tight knot of emotions in your chest. Tell me about Lupin.”
Aodhán scowled. “I don’t want to.”
Helzarvauth sighed. “That’s exactly your problem. You have so many emotions buried within you that require attention, but you’d rather push them to the back of your mind rather than deal with them.”
Aodhán’s scowl deepened. “Emotions are hard for me.”
Helzavauth’s gaze softened. “They are hard for everyone, Aodhán. But if you never deal with them, they’ll never go away.”
Aodhán sighed and leaned against the wall. “Fine. Where do I start from?”
“Your recent breakup would be a good place to start.”
Aodhán sighed again and took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. “I feel sad—
“Hurt and heartbroken is more like it.” Helzarvauth cut him off. “You’re so good at pushing aside your emotions that even now you belittle them. I’d prefer if you were more honest.”
Aodhán stuttered. “I… I’m hurt and depressed. I thought we were going to get together during the break, but that didn’t work out, and then when we resumed—
“She broke your heart. Ah, young love.” Helzarvauth teased, struggling to keep a smile suppressed.
Aodhán scowled at him, “Are you mocking me?”
Helzarvauth shrugged unapologetically. “This would be a terribly boring session if I took everything you said too seriously.”
Aodhán shook his head in mild annoyance and the session continued. They discussed his breakup with Lupin extensively, after which they discussed his interactions with Cyrus and then his new perk, as well as the effect of his deepened bond with Varéc. The entire session stretched for almost two hours, and when Aodhán thought Helzarvauth would ask about the whole Raventhorn thing, the man-child smirked at him and closed his notepad. “This has been a very interesting session, Mr. Brystion. We’ll pick it up next week.”
“I won’t be here next week.” He replied, although he was very relieved that the whole thing was over for now.
Helzarvauth chuckled. “I know that dummy. I’ll just have to wait until Eldrith is done manhandling you before taking over.”
Aodhán grimaced at the thought, but before Helzarvauth left the cell, he asked. “Can you actually see my emotions?”
Helzarvauth paused, his expression turning somber for a moment before returning to the professional mask he had worn for most of the session. “I can. I see them in layers. The biggest knots of traumatizing emotions are way down at the bottom, while the other pesky yet important knots stay on top. The unimportant ones swirl around you like a cloud, while trauma scars wrap around you like chains, dragging you down with each breath.”
Aodhán was speechless. He certainly hadn't expected the visuals Helzarvauth's words painted, yet it made him feel so seen that it was scary. If Helzarvauth could see all he said he could, then what about his trauma revolving around his parents? Why hadn’t he mentioned it?
“I’ll see you next week.” Helzarvauth smiled sadly and walked out of the room before Aodhán could say anything. The guard shut the door a moment later, and Aodhán sighed as an uncomfortable silence descended. The image Helzarvauth had described scared him, and as he sat in the room thinking, he wondered, perhaps if he needed to take therapy more seriously this time.
YURIN
Yurin stood within an empty training room after the class on Awakened Advancement Theory (AAT), clutching a sword construct tightly in his hand. After ten breaths, he dashed forward and slashed with a speed only a few in his tier bracket could replicate or surpass.
The sword cut through the air with a whistle, but Yurin barely registered it, too caught up in his own thoughts. He had to be better, to be stronger and faster. He couldn’t ever afford to give up.
Those words had been seared into his heart ever since the day his younger brother was killed by bandits right in front of him. He had tried to fight them off, but there were too many. In the end, Yurin had done the unthinkable—he ran, abandoning his brother to bleed out on a nameless road in Sector 8.
He’d never forgiven himself for giving up, and that incident had scarred him for life. He couldn’t ever give up again. He couldn’t ever relent or succumb. He had to be unyielding, relentless, and persistent.
The sword sliced through the air again, and with each movement, it moved faster and faster until it was practically a blur to his senses. With each breath, Yurin pushed himself to be faster and brighter. Those were the properties of light, and he intended to emulate them in hopes that he would catch the attention of his origin plane and finally gain a seal.
He had been training nonstop ever since the class on awakened combat last week, and although his sword welding had vastly improved, he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere near his actual goal.
Sweat dripped from his golden locks, but he paid it no mind even as his arms ached and his muscles spasmed.
“You can’t give up!” He muttered to himself. “You can’t give up, Yurin. You must be relentless.”
Anyone watching him now would recognize the tenacity and persistence they had seen and admired in him during the first tournament. It was beautiful and inspiring, but it sadly wasn’t enough to gain the attention of the origin plane.
After almost an hour of constant training, Yurin finally collapsed to the concrete floor, heaving and gasping for breath as his body shuddered from stress. He spent the next few minutes on the floor before pushing himself to a sitting position.
“Okay, what am I doing wrong?” He asked himself, his voice echoing in the empty room. To gain a seal required intimate knowledge and understanding of one’s affinity, and Yurin had read all the books about the nature of light affinity that he could find in the library. Many books classified light as an element, closely related to sunlight and heat, while others classified it in a different category entirely, calling it a divine affinity along with darkness, which some considered an infernal affinity. Yurin wasn’t concerned with the classifications though; he just wanted to understand the affinity.
To do so, he had read every book he could find on past ascendants and ascendant candidates who wielded the light affinity. There were, unsurprisingly, very few, as light was a very complex affinity.
Some, like the high priestess of Fourfey, used light in a divine sense; some, like Ascendant candidate Lightus, used it as an element, and others, like Champion Luminus of Sunstone, used it as a concept.
Yurin was yet to decide how he wanted to use his affinity, though, but that wasn't really important right now. What mattered to Yurin right now was to figure out what light meant to him, but even after several hours of study, the answer wasn’t forthcoming. Yet he couldn’t give up.
He spent the next few hours meditating and thinking, after which he stood up again and continued practicing his sword. He had to get a seal before the selection process began, and he wouldn’t give up until he did.