Adrian pushed open the padded door to the isolation ward. The hinges made no sound. Inside, the room was quiet and dim, the walls lined with soft gray cushioning. A faint chemical scent lingered in the air, clean but artificial, like bleach and cotton.
Olivia Baker sat in the corner. Her wrists and ankles were secured with thick restraints, and the straitjacket locked her arms across her chest. Her head drooped to one side, tangled brown hair falling over her face. Her right eye twitched, half-aware, while the left socket was covered in gauze.
She looked small. Not in size, but in presence. Like a person who had been squeezed into silence.
Adrian stepped inside and closed the door behind him. In one hand, he carried a foldable chair. He walked to the center of the room, unfolded it slowly, and sat. He placed both feet on the ground and rested his hands loosely on his lap. Every movement was intentional.
He smiled.
Not too wide. Just enough to suggest comfort. Trust. Warmth.
"Hello," he said, his voice low and even. "I'm your doctor. My name is Adrian. I'm here because I want to help you feel better."
No reaction. Olivia's eye tracked him, but her body stayed tense. Muscles coiled tight under the restraints.
Adrian leaned forward slightly.
"Not the kind of doctor who gives you needles," he added. "The kind that listens. The kind that stays."
Still no words. Just a small twitch in her jaw.
He adjusted his tone again. Gentler now. Not soft enough to sound fake, but light enough to pass under the skin. The charm was active, flowing from him without force. A steady pressure. Not dominance, but guidance. Enough to plant familiarity.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm not a stranger. Think of me as a friend. One who knows what pain looks like."
That made her blink. Just once.
Adrian kept his hands visible, palms relaxed.
"You've been through something awful. Something no one else understands. That's all right. I'm not going to make you explain it today."
He tilted his head slightly and let the silence linger.
"I just wanted to meet you," he said. "To talk. No pressure. No judgment. We can start slow. You don't even have to answer. Just listen."
Olivia didn't speak, but her body gave a small shift. Her shoulders lowered a fraction. Enough for Adrian to see the first crack in the wall.
That was all he needed.
He smiled again. Warmer this time.
"That's good. You're doing fine, Olivia."
He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, casual but present.
"We'll go at your pace. I'm in no rush."
The room stayed quiet, but something had changed. The stillness was no longer brittle. It had shape now. A place where a conversation might grow.
Adrian sat without moving, letting the silence stretch just enough to settle. Then, quietly, he focused.
His eyes remained on Olivia, but his attention shifted inward.
He scanned her.
No Law signature. No fragments. Not even the faint residue that lingered after failed awakenings. Her soul was unmarked, brittle, like glass that had been cracked and glued together without care.
Just a broken mortal.
No wonder the government dumped her here.
To them, she was already lost. A threat to public safety, too unstable to heal, too fragile to use. So they passed her down to the lowest tier, out of sight, out of mind.
Olivia suddenly stirred.
"You're not strong enough," she whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.
Adrian's gaze sharpened.
"Not enough to fight it," she continued. "The blood… it's everywhere. All over the floor, all over the walls."
Her voice cracked, eyes darting to places that didn't exist.
"That grotesque thing. It wanted pain. It wanted sacrifice. It wanted—"
She didn't finish. Her body jerked against the straitjacket. A low cry escaped her throat as she began thrashing violently, twisting toward the nearest wall. She slammed her shoulder once, then again, trying to use momentum to reach the cushioned corner with her head.
Adrian didn't wait.
His breathing slowed as he reached inward and activated his ability.
A thread of soul essence flowed from his core, just five percent, enough to spark the effect without strain.
Soothing Paradox.
He stood slowly and approached, voice soft, clear, and firm.
"It's okay, Olivia."
She froze mid-thrash.
"You're safe now. You're not in danger."
Her breath caught.
"I'm here with you," Adrian said gently. "You're not alone."
The lie slipped into the room like a fog. It wasn't true. She wasn't safe. She wasn't free from danger. But for a moment, the contradiction settled into her nervous system like truth.
The muscles in her arms stopped pulling.
Her head tilted back, gaze losing its panic.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly looked up at him.
"…Yes," she murmured. Her voice was light. Distant, but no longer shaking.
Adrian watched her closely. Her right eye had cleared slightly. The flicker of lucidity had returned.
She was calm now. Not healed, but reachable.
He stepped back and returned to the chair, letting the atmosphere settle again.
The ability would last about forty minutes on someone like her. Long enough for what came next.
Long enough to begin.
Adrian gave her a moment before speaking again. Her breathing had steadied. Her posture loosened, no longer tense. He leaned forward slightly, keeping his tone light.
"Do you like music, Olivia?"
She blinked at him, uncertain. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing with suspicion. But the tension didn't return.
"…Sometimes."
"Any favorites?"
A pause. Then, quietly, "I used to like Ansel Crow. His old acoustic stuff. Before he joined that band."
Adrian nodded thoughtfully, giving her the space to keep talking.
"Yeah? Not a fan of the newer direction?"
"He just started… shouting. Like every song was about fire or glass. I liked the quiet ones better."
"I get that," Adrian said, smiling. "I'm more of a piano guy, honestly. But don't tell anyone."
That earned the faintest curve of her lips. A shadow of a smile.
Encouraged, he kept going.
"What about movies? Anything you've watched a hundred times and never get tired of?"
Olivia glanced at the floor, thinking. "The one with the robot girl. The sad one. She couldn't understand feelings."
"'Mechanical Dawn,' right?"
A nod.
"That's a good one," he said. "I cried. Don't tell anyone that either."
She gave a quiet laugh. Soft, almost shy.
Adrian's tone remained gentle as he shifted again.
"And when you're not watching sad robots or listening to Crow scream about broken mirrors… what did you do for fun?"
"I drew," she said, almost automatically. "Mostly faces. People I saw."
"Saw where?"
"In dreams."
There was a quiet moment.
"They always felt real," she said. "More real than real people. Sometimes they'd come back in different dreams. Like they were trying to find something."
Adrian gave a thoughtful nod. "That's impressive. Most people can't even remember their dreams."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I used to keep a sketchbook."
"What happened to it?"
"They took it."
Of course they did.
Adrian didn't react. He just nodded, let her keep the calm.
"Maybe you can draw again someday," he said softly. "If things get better."
She looked at him. Not with fear. Just silence. Then slowly, she nodded.
For the first time since he entered, Olivia looked like a seventeen-year-old girl.
Adrian watched her quietly.
The conversation had done its job.
She was open now. And she trusted him.
The warmth between them shattered in an instant.
Olivia jerked forward in her restraints, eyes wide with panic. Her fingers curled and twisted in the fabric as she clutched at her skull like something inside was tearing to escape.
"She wants it again," she whispered.
Then louder, "She wants my pain!"
Adrian didn't move. He just observed. Calm. Silent.
The clarity in her eyes was already fading. Her voice took on that frayed edge again, panic rising like static. The earlier calm had dissolved.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Forty-two minutes.
"Soothing Paradox fades in forty minutes for standard mortals," he thought. "But she's not standard."
There was no trace of a Law in her. No fragments, no resistance, no internal energy. But the way her mind responded… it wasn't typical. Not just broken altered. Something had opened her too wide.
"What if I used one hundred percent?"
He didn't hesitate.
Adrian focused inward. The flow of his essence surged, pulled all at once from the reservoir carved by the Law.
His eyes locked on hers.
"She can't bully you while I'm here," he said softly. "I'll make her disappear."
His voice was steady. His tone absolute. The words were a lie but the Lie became real.
A pulse of stillness spread through the room. Olivia gasped once, like someone surfacing from deep water.
Then she stopped shaking.
Her breathing slowed. Her limbs settled. The panic drained from her face like a fever breaking. She blinked once, twice, and then stared at him.
"You did something," she said quietly. "I felt it."
Adrian didn't answer. He just gave her a faint smile. Not warm just close enough.
Olivia's lips parted. "It worked," she breathed. "Mr. Adrian… you're a miracle worker!"
He kept his posture relaxed, even as his body adjusted to the drain. The soul essence would take time to replenish. It didn't matter.
"Call me Adrian," he said. "We're friends now."
Olivia nodded. A soft smile touched her face.
For the moment, she was calm. For the moment, she believed.
And that was enough.
Adrian didn't speak for a long moment. He just watched her.
Olivia was smiling.
Not forced. Not frenzied. Just… normal. She looked like a seventeen-year-old girl finally catching her breath after years of drowning. If someone walked in now, they wouldn't guess what she had been moments ago. They wouldn't see the fracture.
No tension in her shoulders. No twitch in the eye. Her fingers rested still in her lap. Breathing soft. Expression calm.
And most important no trace of the Law.
"She's stable," Adrian thought. "Genuinely stable."
A flicker crossed his mind, subtle but clear. Not a voice. Not a symbol. Just a knowing.
If no one mentioned the grotesque thing again, if no one forced her to recall the trauma she would live as any normal teenager.
Then something clicked.
A pressure shifted in his chest. Not painful, but deep as if a weight had moved from one part of him to another.
So this is what it feels like to be Rank 12. A Psychologist.
Progress: 50 percent.
Adrian blinked.
What the hell. The progress actually moved.
He stared at the floating notification, watching as the number ticked higher.
Progress: 70 percent.
That was impossible. Or at least, it should have been.
Until now, he thought Realizers grew stronger by using power. By applying abilities and refining techniques. But this… this was different.
To become a Realizer was to realize the Law. To understand it fully. To let it shape you, and in return, shape it. That was the meaning. That was why they were called Realizers.
Understanding. That was the key.
And cultivating the path was not just repetition or training. It was comprehension. The more deeply you understood the Law, the more your being aligned with it. The more you became part of it.
And each rank is like a hint that need to be comprehend step by step
Psychologist. That was the title of Rank 12.
Not warrior. Not mage. Not anything grand.
A Psychologist understands the mind. Studies emotional trauma. Calms panic. Guides someone away from the edge. Not with medication. Not with drugs. Just with understanding. Words. Connection.
And that was enough. That counted.
It moved him forward.
Adrian looked at Olivia, who now smiled gently at nothing in particular. Her posture was relaxed. Her voice quiet. Her hands at peace.
She was not cured. Not truly. But she was whole enough to function. And that mattered.
So… what came next?
Cognitive Architect. That was Rank 11.
Would he need to manipulate thoughts? Implant new ideas? Reconstruct identity frameworks from within?
Could he even do that yet?
And Rank 9… Psychiatrist. The word lingered.
Would that mean prescribing medication? Diagnosing spiritual disorders? Using Realizer methods to stabilize others?
Maybe even stabilizing Realizers themselves. That… made sense.
He exhaled slowly.
It was all becoming clearer. The Path wasn't about control. It was about precision. Influence. Subtlety. The Lie, spoken gently, wrapped in care — becoming truth, not through force, but through belief.
He had only just begun.