Chapter 70 Losing my mind
~ Taren's POV ~
“There is no need for you to be scared, my lady. These things happen,” I said to her carefully, keeping my voice as steady as I could while hoping it would be enough to calm her racing thoughts.
I couldn't have been more grateful in that moment for the single scroll I had been able to understand, the one that had warned me this might occur. Without that knowledge, I had no idea how I would have reacted or how I would have handled the situation after experiencing the worst pain of my life only minutes earlier.
Yet, despite the agony still lingering in my chest, the sight of her panicking, of her standing there trembling and looking utterly terrified, made every other concern vanish from my mind. My worry for her eclipsed everything else.
I moved quickly to reassure her, speaking with urgency, but she did not believe a word I said.
“No, it does not happen,” she said, shaking her head fiercely. “I just hurt a child, and I hurt you as well.”
“Please stop panicking,” I urged her gently. “Witches lose control all the time, especially those who have not yet mastered their powers.” It was not a lie. I had seen it happen more than once when I was younger, and those memories were still vivid. “To be frank, I actually expected this to happen,” I admitted, and she frowned at me in disbelief.
“You expected me to hurt you?” she asked, her voice tight with emotion.
“No. I expected you to lose control,” I clarified, keeping myself rooted where I stood and maintaining eye contact with her. I didn't want to make any sudden moves that might send her running in fear, especially since she was already keeping her distance from me, her expression wary and uncertain.
“This is not about control,” she said, shaking her head again, despair written clearly on her face. “I don't think it is. I think I'm losing my mind. I'm going insane.”
Her words shocked me deeply. “Why would you think that?” I asked, genuinely confused, because none of it made sense to me at first.
“The war,” she said simply. “I can't get the war out of my mind, and it is driving me nuts. I’m becoming a monster,” she explained as she clutched the sides of her head, her distress painfully evident.
That was when understanding finally dawned on me. I realized what the true problem was, even though I still did not know how best to help her. She had not lived through the war herself, but witnessing such a vivid vision of it was more than enough to unbalance anyone.
“You are not becoming a monster,” I said firmly. “You will never be a monster. We will fix this. You just have to trust yourself,” I encouraged her with everything I had.
“Trust myself,” she repeated softly. Then she looked up at me abruptly, her frown still present but less severe. “You sound just like my aunt,” she said quietly, and I saw the tension in her face ease slightly as a hint of calm finally returned.
I breathed out slowly, a subtle rush of relief passing through me, grateful for whatever words I had spoken that had managed to pull her thoughts toward her aunt and away from the edge she had been standing on.
She released a weary sigh and ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling slightly as she tilted her head to the side. She looked as though she was about to turn back to me when her entire body suddenly went rigid. Her head snapped to the side once more, her eyes widening as if a frightening realization had just struck her.
“Where is the child?” she asked, panic rising sharply in her voice. “He was here just now. Where did he go?”
I turned away from her at once and scanned the entire archive, my attention leaving her for the first time since everything had begun. My eyes swept over the shelves, the tables, and every shadowed corner of the vast space, but the pup was nowhere to be found.
“Oh boy,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as unease crept in. “I think he went back out, and we were too distracted to notice.”
Her breathing quickened instantly. “That is definitely bad news,” she said, her words tumbling out without pause as she began pacing the floor. “He is going to talk. He is going to tell them what happened to him. I have ruined everything, and I have gotten us in trouble.”
“It's not you, Lyra,” I said firmly, calling her by her name without thinking this time because I needed her to understand how serious I was. “Stop blaming yourself. You did not invite the boy. He found his way here on his own.”
“How?” she asked quickly, stopping in her tracks to face me. “Is there another entrance?”
“Yes,” I answered. “The main entrance exists, but it has been sealed for a long time. Still, there are small cracks through which a child can pass. I am guessing that is how he got in.”
“He is going to bring the others back here,” she insisted, fear tightening her voice.
“I don't think so,” I replied calmly, though I couldn't be entirely sure myself. “But to be on the safe side, I think we should go back upstairs.”
With that, I walked toward the table where the scrolls and books lay scattered and began carefully packing them back into the half ruined basket, handling each item with care.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes following my movements closely.
“I’m taking everything back to the room,” I explained. “I don't think it will be safe to come back here anytime soon.”
“Okay, let me help,” she said, starting toward me before abruptly stopping mid step.
I noticed her hesitation immediately. “What is wrong?”
“I don't want to hurt you unintentionally again,” she said quietly.
I straightened and looked at her fully. “Look at me, my lady. Am I hurt? Do I look like someone who is hurt?”
“Not right now,” she admitted softly, “but I did hurt you before, and I don't want to do it again. I am a healer. It brings me joy to see people healed and well. Hurting people gives me the opposite feeling, so please understand.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and as she lowered her eyes, the pain in her expression was impossible to ignore.
“Alright,” I said gently after a moment, giving in. “And don't worry about helping me. I can handle it. It's only a few scrolls and a few books.”