The fourth day of this new world was frightening. I woke up from a nightmare again, in the same place, on the same day, from the same nightmare. I woke up shouting, and Mrs. Ada held me. I was reaching toward the ceiling, calling for my parents, trying to reach them. She stroked my hair. She cares for me like I am her actual son. Every day. She makes me feel safe.
Freedom is earned…
In a week, Noah was going to start school. He felt no joy. He felt alone. He wanted to die. He wanted life to end. He didn't want to go on living happily while his parents had never been given a grave where he could go to cry for them.
The door to Noah's room opened, and Ada came in smiling. "Hey, Noah — there is someone who wants to talk to you. Her name is Anna. She is what people call a therapist." Noah looked at the woman sitting across from him. His hair fell forward, covering his eyes. He noticed a mark on her hand that read 時 — time. The therapist seemed mildly puzzled as to why anyone would bother caring for a man, but she had a job and she was being paid, so she didn't particularly care whether her patient was a man or a woman.
"Noah," the therapist said firmly, settling into her chair. "I am here to help you. Your mother told me about your nightmares — about how you scream in the night. What you are going through is called PTSD: post-traumatic stress disorder. It happens when something terrifies you so deeply that your mind cannot help but keep returning to it. Let me be honest with you, Noah. No one can save you from what you are experiencing — only you can do that. You are afraid of something, and if you do not face that fear, you will never recover from it. I believe you are having thoughts of suicide. I believe you feel as though something will come for you the moment you close your eyes."
One of Noah's eyes appeared from behind his hair.
"Noah, you can talk to me. There are no hidden motives behind my help. I am here under a contract with your mother. I answer to no one other than her, and I am being paid — so whatever you tell me stays between us."
Noah finally looked up at her, then over at Ada. Ada met his gaze, smiled, and left the room. Noah took a deep breath and tied his hair back with the hair tie his mother had given him.
"Well…" Noah told her everything that had happened on the island. How he had held his mother's hand. How he had seen his father's head roll toward him. How his teacher's lifeless body had hit the ground and gone still. The terror he had felt in the moment he lost his family. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like his fault. He felt he could have done more.
In Noah's eyes, he had failed his family. He had let them die. And every time he closed his eyes, he was reminded that he had been too afraid to do anything to save them.
The therapist stopped writing in her notebook. She set it down and smiled warmly — though the smile was still a little practiced. "That is heartbreaking, Noah. I don't quite know where to begin, so I will be honest with you. As a child, you have suffered more than anyone I have ever treated. You have seen hell, and you have seen death. The best way to carry that is to learn to remember it and still be able to live — and this is something others may have already told you, but your parents would always choose you over themselves. In any world, in any moment, your parents would always push you to safety before saving themselves."
Noah's eyes began to water. "I — I know, but I still feel guilty. I'm strong. I was supposed to be the hero. The one who saved everyone!" he said, tears running down his face.
"You are a child. No one will blame you for freezing with fear in front of something as terrifying as the Skin of Cain. Grown men freeze when they see it. Instead of blaming yourself, try to hold onto this: the parents who loved you so deeply chose to save the only person they loved more than their own lives." The therapist stood and this time her smile was genuine and warm. "I will be back tomorrow. Let's talk again, Noah."
She left. Noah was alone, sobbing like the little boy he was. That was all he was right now — a child soaked in fear and grief, as human as he was powerful.
For the first time, he said it aloud, barely above a whisper: "Ma, I'm scared. Dad, I'm scared." He said it between sobs, tears falling onto the bedsheets. His arms wrapped around himself, searching for an embrace he would never feel again.
Noah's eyes shone in the darkness of his room. Then he pulled back the bedsheets, got up, and turned his attention to his sword. It was a strange weapon. It looked ancient — engravings running from the tip all the way down to where the guard ended and the blade began, with a wooden handle wrapped in blue and red leather. It was a masterpiece, and despite its age, it was in perfect condition. Noah picked up the maintenance kit Ada had given him, along with the manual, and began reading. He studied the illustrations, looked at his tools, wiped his tears, and took a slow breath. "Make sure the stone is wet, keep it aligned with the edge, and move from top to bottom in a V-shape — never a straight line… okay, I think I've got it." He reached for a second book, this one on polishing. He picked up a small bottle and examined it. "Okay — tap the foam, don't use too much, and keep it away from the grip… I get it, it's like animal fat. Keeps it from rusting. Interesting. The books here are remarkable. They're not cryptic at all — they're written like anyone could pick one up and understand it."
Noah closed the book and looked around. The reading was done. Now it was time to work.
He pulled on a pair of leather gloves and began sharpening the blade. An hour and a half passed. Ada entered and found him working on the floor beside his bed, in the dark. She approached him quietly. "Tiny Ice Cube," she said softly. Noah looked up and removed his eye protection. She noticed his eyes were glowing faintly blue.
"Oh — hello." He gave a tired smile.
"I know you're busy, and somehow you're working in complete darkness, but I had a sandwich made for you. We could talk — get to know each other a little." She was awkward about it. She genuinely wanted to be close to him. She did not see him as just a man — she saw him as her child. "Well — I didn't make the sandwich myself. The maids did."
Noah laughed softly. He set his tools aside, pulled off his gloves, and slid his sword back into its sheath. "I only need to polish it anyway."
She smiled broadly, sat down beside him, and handed him the sandwich. He took an enormous bite. He was starving — he hadn't eaten in two days. "Thanks for everything, M — Ada. Contacting a therapist must be expensive. I don't know what I would have done without you, Ms. Ada."
"Money is a tool, not a burden. If I need to spend it, I spend it — and if it helps you, I don't consider this a cost. I consider it an investment." She looked at him, then reached over and tapped his nose. "Not for me. For you." Noah finished his sandwich, wiped his face, and smiled. "Thanks, Ms. Ada."
Ada took his head in her hands and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him. "A smile only fades when a person dies. But for the people who knew them, the smile never truly disappears — because memories remain. Hold onto that when you think about your parents, Noah. Their smiles only fade when you stop remembering them."
Noah's eyes went wide, then slowly shut. He began to cry — hard, openly, the way a normal child cries. "Ma!" he said, pulling Ada into a tight hug. "Dad!" And within a few minutes of crying, he fell asleep, and for the first time, he did not wake up screaming in the night.
In the morning, there was a knock. "Noah, I'm here for another session." Anna stepped in and found the boy sitting at a table reading. There was a tall stack of at least ten books beside him, and a smaller finished stack of two. "You seem better after just one session," she said, moving to the chair beside him and opening her notebook.
"Sort of. I'm not sure how I feel."
"But you feel better. I heard you had a good night." The therapist smiled.
"I suppose so. I'm not sure what changed," Noah said.
"You live. You love. Those are simply the foundations of being human. But why is a therapist talking to you about love?" She paused. "Science will tell you that love is just a chemical released in the brain. I personally believe it is more than that. I believe love is the bond between people — a bond between living beings that cannot be broken by ordinary things. You loved your parents, Noah. And not even a monster could take that away from you. You were never afraid of the creature. In every one of your dreams, you were always looking for a way to save your family." The therapist looked at him and smiled.
Noah's eyes widened and he looked back at his books. "That is creepy. You are creepy."
"What did you just say, you little runt?!" Her smile dropped.
Anna grabbed Noah's ear. Noah grinned through it. "Mrs. Anna is so creepy… thank you, Mrs. Anna."
In eight years of practice, she had never felt this satisfied watching a patient recover — never felt quite this happy watching someone smile again. It was a strange feeling. She found herself wanting to know what future this boy would build for himself.
She activated her ability — the power to see into the future — and saw a man standing atop a mountain of corpses, a shining sword raised before the Skin of Cain.
The therapist's expression shifted. She concealed it quickly.
She would need to speak to Ada about this.