15 Regroup (1/2)

Daric calms down from blind panic, leaving him shaking and crying. I embrace him. Guilt washes over me for making him relive his personal nightmare. I hold him tighter, not asking for forgiveness because I can't forgive myself.

I'm finding it harder to remain emotionally distant. Realizing it's easier when the closest thing to a stable relationship I've been in was with a drunk psychiatrist. And he's getting paid for it. The short time I've spent with these children touched something in me I thought I killed long ago. Feeling the pang in my heart from Daric's cries leaves me fearful that I'll lose track of reality.

By now his trembling subsides, but I continue to hold him whispering words of strength and encouragement. His tears wet the front of my dress. We remain this way until he stops crying. When he finishes, I wipe his tears.

Chocking on guilt, I have a hard time saying what I want to. ”I am so sorry you had to go through that,” I push out my tight throat.

”It's not your fault.” He replies, his voice small.

I don't say anything. There is little point in arguing. ”It's okay,” I say pet his head gently.

”I'm not a child,” although he says that, he doesn't stop me. He leans back into me, and we sit there on the forest floor a while longer. In a voice so small, I'm not entirely sure I didn't imagine it. I hear, ”thank you.” I smile and unable to resist when he's so adorable, I kiss the top of his head and continue soothing him.

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Daric feels Emma kiss the top of his head and almost cries again. Her gentle soothing reminds him of his mother; before everything went wrong. He's forgotten what she looks like but recalls in her lucid moments she was kind and gentle. At times, he can remember her humming him to sleep on the nights the drunks got too loud, held him close when the nights got cold, and smile although times were tough. Unfortunately, the few good memories are often drowned out by the horror of that night. Memories get blurry with time, but never will he forget the day his mother died for him. As his world crumbled around him, she still smiled as she said everything is as it should.

He may not recall what she looks like, but he will always remember the warmth she had when she held him. The same warmth Emma has.

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Monna shakes off the fog dulling her mind and realizes she's hovering over a hole with a dirt-covered book in my hands. The same book her father passed on to her before his death, an ancient book bound by using the flesh of an Arch Mage, the highest level a mage can reach. Nearly impossible to destroy and filled with verza; similar to asura, but it's the energy of the Voharian Realm. Also referred to as the Dark Realm. It holds histories worst spells that require drawing on verza.

/What...How did I? Wasn't I just with Ivo?/

Monna tries to figure out how she got here when His sinister voice sounds in her ear.

[Dearest little girl why did you stop? You have not finished your task.]

”You!” she whips around. Unable to see anyone she yells at air, ”how did I get here!? What did you do!?”

There's a slight pause, [Oh dear, have you forgotten already? You agreed to let me help you.]

”I – I did?”

[Yesss...] he softly hisses. His hypnotic voice sounds so reasonable, Monna finds herself agreeing with him.

”Yesss...”

[We are going to keep your little friends safe, yes?]

”Yess...safe.”