August Intruder [SOL Progression Fantasy]

The first thing Melmarc could say with complete certainty was that he did not like the room. There was just way too much green. It seemed endless and unnecessary.

He took the room in at a glance as he walked in. The natural setting was too much, the wood brown, the leaf green. It reminded him of his time in the portal.

Still, he said nothing. Instead, he squinted at the middle-aged man on the seat, wondered why he was… translucent.

Has this portion of the test already started, he wondered as he turned to face the lady that had let him in.

She paused for a moment, as if waiting for something. Melmarc couldn't begin to fathom what it could possibly be.

"Is the room not to your liking?" she asked.

Melmarc paused before giving the answer. He turned away from her and took the room in once more. The middle-aged man sitting on one of two of the office chairs looked curious, watchful.

Am I supposed to point him out? He wondered, taking in the couch and the bean bag.

The room was definitely designed for people who loved camping or were environmental activists. There were people like those, people who advocated for more plant lives than there already was. They wanted more forests with more people being pooled together. There was one group that Delano liked, they advocated for taller housing instead of wider housing—stack houses on top of houses not beside houses.

In the end, he turned back to the woman and shrugged. "Does it matter if I do?"

"Not really," she answered with a smile.

Dissonant.

Melmarc pressed his lips into a thin line and fought the sigh that threatened to rise from him. It was never a good sign when a conversation started with a lie.

"I'm not a fan," he answered, eyes turning down to the paper she was holding in her hand, offering him.

He took it from her.

The heading was enough to tell him what it was.

A telepathic consent form.

A lot of organizations used them during certain types of interviews, depending on the importance of the task the interviewee is being considered for. A lot of psychiatrists and therapists that were Gifted and possessed the [Telepathy] class also used it.

His eyes moved over the words and sentences. He wasn't versed in any form of law but it looked quite detailed for something that was just a piece of paper. He could audit them if he thought they'd tempered with his mind in anyway other than simply looking through it.

That was interesting.

He could also pick any psychological auditing company of his choice, as long as they were properly licensed by the government. And they would foot the bill upon conclusion of the audit. They would also not be permitted to know the bill until after the audit. Melmarc guessed it was to prevent foul play somehow. Maybe it would stop them from trying to double the price in their favor?

Truthfully, he couldn't think of any way it would help in this moment. Ultimately, nothing worrying jumped out at him.

But signing contracts like this were tricky. You never really knew what you were signing, that's his mom was always the one that handled things like this.

But while he was still going to sign it, he had a trick to help.

"Do you understand the contents of this consent form well?" he asked the woman, taking his eyes from the paper to look at her.

It was always polite to look at who you were talking to.

The lady nodded. "I do."

"Does it put me at any form of intentional disadvantage?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"It says here that I can choose to have the school audited for foul play at any point in my life. Have there been students who've audited the school during their stay here or after?"

The lady paused, as if she hadn't expected the question.

"A few," she answered.

"How many times was foul play detected?"

"She's not at liberty to say."

The lady looked past him and Melmarc turned to look at the old man. He was no longer translucent but fully present. His voice was also like that of a veteran war commander in medieval movies, strong and gravelly, understanding yet commanding.

Melmarc knew all he needed to know regarding the consent form now. There had been no dissonance in their answers. It gave him some level of safety.

When he returned his attention to the lady, she was holding out a pen to him. He took it and signed.

"Will I be getting a copy of this for my use?" he asked, handing it over to her.

The lady nodded. "Upon admission, it will be added to your official records, and you will receive a copy in your email."

Melmarc nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the lady replied, then gestured to the selection of chairs. "Shall we?"

Melmarc nodded, turning to the chairs. He walked up to the couch but didn't sit. Something about it felt uncomfortable to him. He just knew that he wasn't going to enjoy the couch. The other available chairs were just…

His brows furrowed. Something was off—wrong.

His attention moved to a section of the room's wall. Discomfort bubbled in his chest. His lungs began to hurt in a way that was simply uncomfortable but not painful. He cocked his head to the side, still staring at the wall. It was as if he had a pain he'd been carrying his entire life. A pain that he knew for so long that it was no longer painful to him.

Whose pain was he feeling? Was the old man sick? The Gifted weren't known to fall sick, at least not the D-ranks and higher.

I guess this is going to be a painful session, he thought, sitting on the ground.

Only when he was comfortably seated did he realize what he had done. He'd picked the ground over the chairs without even noticing.

He really hoped it wasn't the aspect of Madness affecting him without any signs to let him know.

"My name," the lady said, occupying the chair closer to him than the man's, "is Doctor Deborah. I am an [Empath], and I'll be in charge of asking you questions and getting a general feel of your reactions to me."

Melmarc nodded. Doctor Deborah. No last name given.

If she was in charge of asking the questions and getting a general feel of his reactions. Being an [Empath] meant that the [Telepath] was the man, unless she was the type of [Empath] that could somehow read minds as well. They weren't common but they existed.

"How does the telepathy thing work?" Melmarc asked.

"I use one of my skills," the man said. "Then you get a notification to grant me permission."

"Then you get to see and know everything?"

"If I want to, yes. But I will only be reacting to thoughts regarding the questions asked."

Melmarc nodded and took a deep breath.

"I'm ready."

The old man smiled at his words a moment before Melmarc's interface popped up in front of him.

[Donovan Talinat would like access to you mind.]

[Grant access]

[Y/N?]

Melmarc read the request absently but didn't give an immediate answer.

"Am I at liberty to ask how my brother did?" he said.

The man nodded. "You are."

"How did he do?"

"Very well."

The ground seemed interesting right now, but Melmarc didn't look at it.

"Do you think he'll keep his admission?" His hand reached out to the side and tapped the green rug beneath him three times with his index finger.

Doctor Deborah's gaze followed it.

Why am I acting up?

The old man smiled at him. "Unfortunately, while I'm at liberty to say, I do not have to."

"Is there any way to convince you to?" Melmarc said, smiling in that way children tend to when they tried to offer a friendly bribe.

"Possibly," the man answered, happy to play along. "But for now, can you accept my request?"

"Oh, apologies."

Melmarc took another look at his interface and consented with a shrug of will.

[You have granted Donovan Talinat access to your mind.]

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

[Access can be terminated at any time of your choosing.]

That last piece of information was good to know. It meant that—

Donovan twitched suddenly. He jerked so abruptly and forcefully that Deborah was out of her chair and reaching for him in the blink of an eye.

Melmarc worried immediately, feeling a mind splitting sensation from the man, like a migraine. Then it was gone.

The man stopped moving.

Deborah paused in front of him. Melmarc felt fear from her, fear of the unknown. Like him, she had no idea what had just happened, and it scared her.

"Doctor Donovan?" she said in a soothing but worried voice. When he didn't immediately answer her, she tried again.

The man still said nothing, but he ran a shaky hand through his greying hair. Melmarc caught sight of him. He was wide-eyed in terror. He had enough fear to last a week emanating from him.

He kept it under control quickly. The sensation trickled to a slow stop, and Melmarc wondered what he had seen to get that reaction.

What exactly did Uncle Dorthna do to me?

From what Melmarc knew, he was currently under at least three spells from their uncle. One was designed to hide his [August Intruder] status from anyone who went looking. Another was designed to control his trauma response to prevent any sudden and uncontrolled outbursts. There was also one to just keep track of him.

"Doctor Donovan," Deborah tried once more.

The man waved her aside with a gesture. "I'm fine," he said. "It was just surprising for a moment."

Dissonant.

Anyone with half a brain would've been able to tell that he was lying. The man's eyes remained fixed on Melmarc. At least Melmarc wasn't feeling any fear from him anymore.

"You've got quite the active mind, don't you?" Donovan asked.

Melmarc shrugged, unsure of how to answer that. "I guess. My uncle said talking to me is like talking to a philosophical brick wall."

"Quite a way to describe it," Doctor Deborah said with a smile.

Dissonant.

Melmarc wasn't sure if the dissonance was in her words or their relationship to her smile. The smile was clearly forced, after all.

"He's fun like that," Melmarc replied. "Part of the reason we like him."

Deborah looked to Donovan and the man nodded in what was supposed to be a discreet manner. It was interesting to watch. Anyone would assume that he was an older colleague, but it was more than that. He wasn't just the [Telepath] to her [Empath], she deferred to him.

Melmarc re-identified him now. He was her commanding officer.

He froze at the categorization. Oh, fuck.

They were subtler in this moment, but all his Oath aspects were acting up. Madness was the reason he was on the ground. Pain was there in his lungs. Fear was in Donovan's eyes. War was in the hierarchy he had just identified.

He had really hoped they would only act up in violently stressed situations. All he could do was pray that he didn't end up saying things that he wasn't supposed to say.

Deborah adjusted in her chair. She opened her mouth to speak when Melmarc held up a hand to stop her before he could even stop himself.

He felt a surge of power, strength the likes of which affected the mind. With the power came a sudden annoyance at being deceived. His eyes settled on the wall he had looked upon in the beginning and felt pain.

A man stepped out from it. Melmarc would've been impressed if he wasn't so aware of the man.

He recognized him, even though he had no memory of having ever seen him before. The question was why?

"Good evening, Mr. Lockwood," the man said, then paused as if surprised at himself.

Melmarc squinted at him. "Evening," he answered with some level of uncertainty, as his confusing ire settled.

Where had it come from? Was it the concept of War? It had felt as if a subordinate had been gravely disrespectful but refusing to adhere to protocol while trying to assume a role superior to him.

It had been a complete break in hierarchy.

But he'd never met the man before. Is he an Oath?

It was the only explanation. Uncle Dorthna had said that he was like the General to the Oaths. Their commanding officer.

But his father was an Oath and he'd never felt anything like that from him. What were the chances that each Oath affected him differently? Or maybe it was because his aspects weren't acting up during his time with his father.

You met dad in the portal when your aspects were on full drive, though.

Questions, unanswered questions, that was all he was getting. Melmarc didn't like it.

As for Donovan and Deborah, they each gave the man a confused look.

The new arrival was a tall man with a face held in a frown. But as tall as he was, he was still a few inches shorter than Melmaarc. His expression reminded Melmarc of what it looked like when someone lost a very loved one but had to put on a strong face for those around him.

It was sad. Sorrowful.

As if remembering himself, the man shook his head.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm just here to watch."

Melmarc couldn't really say that he was worried, just a little annoyed at the idea of the man assuming that he was above him even though he clearly was.

"Mr. Lockwood, meet Mr. Callum," Deborah said, introducing the man. "Mr. Callum is a high ranking Delver and we have recently been informed that he would be sitting in on these interviews. Often times, Delvers sponsor a child's stay in the school should they see some level of potential in them."

Melmarc knew of the practice. Not the one that allowed Delvers into interviews, but the one where they gave students scholarship. It often ended up with said children joining their Delving company upon graduation from high school or college, depending on where the Gifted chooses to end their education.

Deborah looked at Donovan as if they were on a movie set and he'd forgotten his lines. The middle-aged man's brows were drawn together in concentration. He was like a man solving a complex mathematical equation.

Is he sweating? Melmarc wondered, watching whispers of sweat slowly appear over his brows.

Deborah turned away from him slowly to refocus her attention on Melmarc.

"Will Mr. Callum's presence be a problem?" she asked.

Melmarc shook his head. "I'm fine with it."

"I'm glad to hear that," Deborah said, sparing a still concentrating Donovan a quick glance. "So, our first question is about your mentorship program."

Melmarc scooted over to the couch and rested his back against it. He frowned mentally.

Get your act together, he chided himself, knowing that he would not. He had the best chance of being well behaved in his current position. If he got up to sit down like a civilized human being, he was very likely going to punch someone wearing a hat.

He wasn't sure if he would be the one wearing a hat or if it would be the one wearing the hat or if it would be the person he was punching. It was quite the lexical ambiguity to put himself through.

"Mr. Lockwood?"

Melmarc perked up at Deborah's voice. "Yes, ma'am."

"Did you hear what I said?"

No. "You asked how I felt about my mentor, right?"

"Yes, I did."

Melmarc had no idea how he had remembered that. While she'd been talking, he'd been too busy figuring out hats and punches.

Mr. Callum gave him an odd look.

Taking a moment to think about it, Melmarc found himself thinking about Detective Alfa and Naymond. Naymond had been more of a mentor than Alfa. Now that he thought about it, he wondered where Naymond was. His mother said that he was still carrying out the same quest he'd been carrying out when they met. According to her, it had something to do with a Romanian Gifted drug ring—the same drug ring that had had him delivering human brain.

He still had no idea what he would use as a reward for Naymond once he completed the quest, though.

"My mentors were alright," he said, in the end, answering Deborah. "They were… fun… in their own ways."

Deborah's brows furrowed in confusion now. "You had more than one?"

"I did," Melmarc nodded. "I worked in a police precinct under a detective. With all her workload and multiple Gifted present for the mentorship program, she delegated."

"I see." Deborah didn't look like she understood anything. In fact, she looked confused. "It is also on record that you, due to unpredictable circumstances, ended up stuck in a portal."

Melmarc's mind ran back to the entire thing. The delivery. The non-Gifted boys he'd fought. The Gifted boys he'd fought. Having a gun pointed at his face. Getting shot.

He could still hear the sound of the gunshot in his ear, loud and terrifying. Even now, he knew that the man who had shot him was dead. How, was what he did not have the answer to.

He nodded slowly. "I did."

"Would you say that it was due to circumstances that could've been avoided?"

Definitely. For starters, I should've chosen not to take up the mission.

So why did I?

Agency? Was that it? Had he been looking for agency? Had he been trying to do something daring and out of the way for himself?

It sounded a little shallow in his head.

"A lot of things could've been done to avoid it," he answered.

"And who would you blame for everything that went wrong?"

"Life's one big chaotic mess, ma'am," he said without missing a beat. "If this building exploded out of nowhere, I'm sure we could find ways to have avoided it, but it is what it is."

"So… you're not trying to point fingers," she said with a nod, sneaking a discreet look at Donovan.

The middle-aged man was doing his best to maintain a neutral expression but, in truth, he looked like a man struggling with a very huge dump that just won't finish coming out.

Melmarc could feel a lot of mental discomfort from him now. Oddly enough, it kept rising and falling, as if someone was filling a bucket with water while someone else stole water from it at an almost equal pace.

His eyes moved to Mr. Callum before he could stop himself, and he focused. He could feel something hovering just underneath the man's expression. It was there, all he had to do to feel it was try. But trying would be prying. It wasn't as if he was enthusiastic to go around feeling people's pain. He already hated the aspect, there was no reason for him to go pressing, so he ignored it.

"There's no finger to point, ma'am," he told Deborah. "Things just happened, and I'm fine."

Deborah nodded slowly. "That's fair, then let's move on to the next question. Not too long ago, you jumped off a plane."

"I did."

"Why?"

Melmarc shook his head, confused. "Did you watch the entire video?"

"Yes. And I just want to say that it was a brave thing you did, especially for a boy your age. We would just like to know what was going through your mind when you did it."

"The fight or the jump?"

"Both."

"I fought because there was a terrorist on a plane that had me and my brother in it," Melmarc answered. It was a no-brainer. "My brother's safety was important."

"And jumping?"

Melmarc understood that she had to ask these questions but they were beginning to feel stupid. If he had fought to keep his brother alive, the answer to why he jumped had to be glaringly obvious.

"Mr. Lockwood?"

"I jumped because my brother jumped. I assumed that it would be clear since you watched the video."

"Even though you knew that you were going to die?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

…Calm yourself.

"Yes, you are. So, you knew that you were going to survive?"

"No." Melmarc placed his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers. Oddly enough, it curtailed what seemed like a rising anger. "But I had no intentions of dying."

Deborah looked at Donovan once more. Her fears when the man said nothing and barely acknowledged her rolled over Melmarc's skin. He did not like the feeling.

"One final question," she said.

Melmarc got up from the ground and stretched. "I'm listening."

"The portal. How did you get out?"

Melmarc's brows furrowed. He killed a lot of things that were already dead to get out. A lot of things that tried to kill him. Things that came back even when he was home. Things that served a demi-god. A demi-god that killed some of the Delvers that came to save him.

A Demi-god he had slain.

Caldath, Son of Valoth.

His blood boiled as he remembered what Caldath had called him.

Honorless one.

He was not without honor. He was not… without… HONOR.

Melmarc's hands tightened into fists. Deborah's eyes went to one of them while Callum unfolded his arms with a curious expression.

Heat flared in the back of his neck, drawing his attention from everything else to it. Uncle Dorthna's spell. He had said that it would keep him from losing his mind but not losing control. Retaining control was his job.

Melmarc sighed as if he was tired.

"My experience in the portal was… less than positive," he said simply, unfurling his fist. "It is an experience that I am still learning to come to terms with. I would rather not talk about it with anyone except those who are helping me deal with it."

"Even knowing that I am a licensed therapist?" she asked, curious.

"Yes."

"You do know that there is a [Telepath] with access to your mind, correct?"

Melmarc felt no hostility from her, sensed no dissonance either. He still had to ask, though. "Is that a threat?"

"Not at all," Deborah said calmly. "Just a reminder. You signed the form. I'm just trying to tell you that if it's something you are not comfortable talking about, we could have Doctor Donovan access these memories, if it is okay with you."

Melmarc thought about it for a moment. "And nothing that does not relate directly to this school will leave this room?"

"Yes."

If that was the case, Melmarc couldn't see why not. There was the case of his dad showing up, but it was already on record that his parents were Delvers. It wouldn't be out of place for your father, who is a Delver, to come and rescue when you're stuck in a portal. In fact, he couldn't see anything that happened in the portal that would shed a poor light on him.

In the end, he conceded. "Okay."

Deborah turned to Doctor Donovan and gave him a curious look.

"Just a moment," the man said, taking in a deep preparatory breath. "Let's see what we can—"

His entire body stiffened and a terrible moan left his lips. It sent everyone into a panic. Deborah shot out of her chair and grabbed him. His muscles freed up and rather than settle, he started thrashing in her hold.

Mr. Callum was already moving.

"What's happening?" he asked her, placing his hand on Donovan's head.

Melmarc felt pain explode from Donovan. At the same time, he felt it begin to channel itself into Mr. Callum.

"We need a [Telepath] or a [Healer]," Mr. Callum said to Deborah. "I've got him. Go get help."

Through the entire ordeal, even as Deborah got up and headed for one of the walls, Melmarc did not move a muscle. He was more occupied by what was in front of him.

His interface stared him in the face.

[Donovan Talinat is lost in your mind]

[Donovan Talinat is trapped in your mind]

[Would you like to release Donovan Talinat?]

[Y/N]

What the hell?