Warrehn heaved a sigh. “He did. I guilt-tripped him into allowing you to take a look at his mind. He’s still not exactly happy about it, but…” He shrugged. “He isn’t happy about anything these days anyway, and I figured it can’t get worse. He’s waiting for you.” Warrehn gestured toward the door.
Ksar disappeared inside, and the wait began.
Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, Ksar emerged, a frown on his face.
“Well?” Warrehn said impatiently. “Did Idhron mess up?”
Ksar shook his head. “From what I could tell, Idhron did exactly what your brother requested. I couldn’t find a single memory of him. And that’s the problem, Warrehn.” He grimaced. “Your brother’s mind… physically, it’s completely healthy, but the problem is Idhron was such a prominent part of Eridan’s life for years that taking him out of Eridan’s memories seems to be too traumatizing. The brain is a complex organ that tries to mend the gaps in memories by coming up with something that didn’t actually happen, something that’s usually based on one’s subconscious fears. That’s why your brother is suffering from a severe depression.”
Warrehn rubbed his forehead. “Can’t you help him?”
Ksar gave him a flat look. “Of course I can’t. I’m a Class 7 telepath, not a therapist. He needs a mind healer.”
Warrehn bristled. “You can’t seriously suggest—”
“Look, Warrehn,” Ksar said, his expression a little tight. “I have no love for the High Hronthar, but even I have to admit that there are things mind adepts are legitimately good at, and that’s healing mental trauma.” He looked Warrehn in the eye. “Are you aware your brother was the subject of an attempted sexual assault and that he killed his assaulter?”
What?
“I don’t have to tell you how traumatizing that would normally be,” Ksar said. “Luckily for Eridan, at the time, he was bonded to the best mind adept of the Order. For all Idhron’s faults, he did the kid good and healed his trauma. Until now. With every memory of Idhron gone, everything even remotely related to him was erased from Eridan’s mind, including all the healing and trauma treatment. That’s why he’s falling apart now. He needs help. As soon as possible.”
“You’re a Seven,” Warrehn ground out in frustration. “You really can’t help him?”
Ksar’s lips thinned. “Raw power isn’t everything. I’m no mind healer. I have no experience with something like that. If it were as simple as you think, I would have healed my own brother when he was suffering from a mental illness that was slowly destroying his mind. I might be more powerful than Idhron, but I don’t have a fraction of his knowledge and expertise.”
Warrehn sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I know you’re right.”
Ksar turned toward the door. “Give Idhron a call. I doubt he’ll refuse to help his former apprentice.”
Warrehn frowned. “But Eridan must have wanted to erase his memories of him for a reason.” He had his suspicions about it, even though he tried not to think about it too much.
“Whatever those reasons may be, they can’t be more important than his mental health,” Ksar said dismissively. “If Idhron restores at least a few memories relevant to the assault, that alone should help significantly.” Ksar glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late. I’m supposed to leave for Planet Eila and help them resolve their civil war.”
Warrehn nodded distractedly. “Thanks for coming,” he said, already thinking about how he was supposed to convince Eridan to see a mind healer.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Damn it.
Chapter Thirty: An Act of Selfishness
Warrehn was an overbearing prick.
A well-meaning prick, but an annoying one, nonetheless. No matter how many times Eridan had told him that he was fine, Warrehn wouldn’t leave him alone, hovering over him like an overprotective mother hen.
Eridan had refused to see a mind healer. He was sick of someone constantly messing with his brain and body. It was bad enough that he felt like he was put together wrong, which, according to Warrehn, was the consequence of having the throwback part of his brain blocked off. It raised another question: Why would he do it? Why would he consent to modifying his brain, and essentially his body? Sure, he had never liked being a throwback, but it was part of what he was. He didn’t understand why he would do it, especially considering how wretched he now felt, both physically and mentally. His body felt strange, and his mind was full of disjointed, depressing memories that didn’t quite make sense. The nightmares didn’t help, and the way he felt shaky and small after them for hours wasn’t exactly fun, either, but it wasn’t the worst part.
He felt like he was missing something, as though whoever had messed with his mind had forgotten to put back something essential when they remade him.