Power of Runes Chapter 400: Was It Only a Coping Mechanism?

A sense of calm acceptance took root inside him. There was no victory over his past; he had merely adjusted, creating separation from those recollections to ensure they wouldn't obstruct his future journey.

That idea hung in his thoughts for just an instant. Experiencing an event anew differs greatly from merely recalling it. Recollection remains remote and subdued, whereas reliving revives the identical ambiance, the identical powerlessness, the identical burden squeezing the heart.

Yet Ash simply dismissed that ridiculous notion with a shake of his head, banishing it through steadfast resolve. No matter the circumstances, he was confident he wouldn't lose control—not given his current age and the profound shifts in his character forged by years of trials and tribulations.

Control might have slipped from him back when he was that newly transmigrated youth in this fantastical realm, naive and unsteady, burdened by unresolved wounds he scarcely comprehended.

However, he was no longer that youth.

Trials far graver than mere echoes of bygone days had tested him since. Relative to the conflicts he endured and the decisions he rendered afterward, these visions stung deeply, yet they lacked the power to shatter his resolve.

"But in my view, this situation stands out as particularly unique."

Those words pulled Ash's focus back to the trio of psychiatrists' conversation, drawing him away from his introspection toward their exchange.

"Huh? What exactly do you mean, Sir?" NPC 1 and NPC 2 inquired, their faces etched with bewilderment, bodies tilting ahead as intrigue supplanted their prior assurance.

Everyone recognized the exceptional nature of Ash's case. Rarely did one encounter a youngster perpetrating such a grave act at that tender age. Yet the deliberate, reflective tone of NPC 3 hinted at layers unseen by their novice gazes, elements transcending standard texts and superficial assessments.

Observing their puzzled yet eager faces, NPC 3 offered a gentle smile—encouraging rather than derisive—as he pressed on, evidently gearing up to unveil a more profound insight demanding they look past initial judgments.

"In my opinion, the psyche of young Ash has evolved in a remarkably distinct manner."

"What I'm getting at is that young Ash seems profoundly bonded to someone called Nancy. Doesn't it strike you as odd that a boy distrustful of all would place faith in a mere girl?"

NPC 1 and NPC 2 shot NPC 3 a pointed glance, as though he'd veered off course entirely. They failed to grasp his direction, for to them, the matter revolved around scars, aggression, and conduct, not a mere link between kids.

NPC 3 persisted undeterred by their bafflement.

"I believe his mind has latched onto that girl Nancy—not from romantic love as adults conceive it, but because it has embedded the notion that her presence shields him from harm. When a child endures perpetual peril, the psyche seeks a reliable haven. For him, Nancy filled that role."

He halted for a moment, then expanded on his point.

"Romantic love in childhood? I doubt those immature thoughts grasp love's deeper essence. At that point, feelings arise but evade full grasp. They cling to one another, and lacking lessons to distinguish reliance, solace, need, and fondness, they dub it Love."

NPC 1's brow creased faintly, striving to track the logic, as NPC 3 delved deeper.

"Yet does that capture love's true nature? Society remains woefully uninformed. Vital subjects evade formal education. Institutions drill data, equations, and stale doctrines, yet seldom impart emotional savvy, inner insight, or ways to parse personal sentiments. Thus, potent feelings baffle people in their labeling."

"Life's real requisites go untaught. Practical tools for handling emotions in actuality are omitted. Guidance on love, sentiments, bonds, and their navigation is absent. Balancing duties, learning, and affection—if present—remains unaddressed. This void leads many to misconstrue their inner world."

"Consequently, confusions abound. One might mistake sentiments toward a girl for Love, yet how to confirm it's not desire, reliance, or solitude's dread masquerading as warmth? Unguided, feelings blur readily."

He straightened his glasses prior to resuming.

"Love... it's profoundly intricate. Those who encounter Genuine Love either craft a life of harmony through shared insight and progress, or watch it unravel into torment from imbalance or misreading. Authentic love demands maturity, introspection, and deliberate selection. And I suspect a child so young lacks any inkling of True love's depths, as such profundity demands lived trials."

"I suspect his psyche has cast Nancy as a beacon of protection and stability. Prolonged fear forges potent links for endurance. Beside her, his nerves ease. His thoughts unwind. He reveals kinder traits sans threat. Away from her, vigilance surges, the surroundings turn hazardous anew, triggering innate safeguards."

Silence enveloped NPC 1 and NPC 2 thereafter, gradually grasping that their observations depicted not juvenile romance, but a mental shield forged by endless dread and hazard.

The insight, though not earth-shattering, hinged on viewpoint. From one lens, it appeared fledgling fondness. From another, it emerged as an essential bulwark born of urgency.

Often, divergent outlooks astonish profoundly—not by altering events, but by recasting all prior comprehension.

Yet unbeknownst to them, another figure absorbed the shock even more intensely, if not surpassingly.

Upon absorbing those statements, Ash sensed an odd shift...

A chill invaded him, as though an invisible force gradually deadened his form from within. His spectral frame mimicked a flesh-and-blood one's responses to tension and dread, reacting with authentic bodily cues despite its illusory essence.

Ash detected his pulse quickening in that form, each thump more insistent and swift, hammering his torso in erratic cadence. Circulation surged, coursing fiercely along his vessels.

Yet rather than heat from the rush, numbness crept in, notably in extremities. The dull unease expanded slowly, eroding his sense of stability. Constriction gripped his torso as respiration labored. It was like unseen grips cinching his lungs, curtailing breath. Pressure built in his chest, inhalations turning labored and brief.

His thoughts looped NPC 3's phrases relentlessly, like an unceasing broadcast, cycling the discourse on refuge, bonds, and endurance without respite. Efforts to tune it out only amplified its internal resonance.

Aridity seized his mouth, moisture vanishing abruptly, while subtle quivers beset his hands. He pressed trembling palms to his breast, seeking anchor, as prickles darted through digits and limbs, acute and disconcerting, trapping his frame in a limbo of frenzy and immobility.

Frustration exploded in his psyche, though even voicing it, he recognized the self-deception. Deep down, he grasped the trigger.

At present, his consciousness probed his entire existence, ripping open sealed reminiscences.

Every instance. Every hour with Nancy. The hushed exchanges. The mutual quietude. The peculiar ease her proximity always brought. Was it merely his mind's quest for tranquility and safeguard? Did she serve solely as a mental tether his brain devised amid turmoil? Had his bond stemmed from real sentiment, or merely a safeguard veiled as virtue?

Did everything he'd sensed prove illusory?

The query struck harshly, like a fissure in crystal.

Respiration turned ragged. Breaths skimmed the surface, air seeming sparse. His heart assaulted his cavity with raw power, not solely rapid but pounding, as if fleeing confinement. Limb numbness sharpened to stinging creeps ascending. Digits shook fiercer, defying clenches.

Edges of sight softened. The space distanced itself. Mirror, bedding, the experts' forms—all grew faintly surreal, like viewing through depths.

Ash sensed his reality fracturing, not with thunderous ruin, but a quiet inward collapse. The bedrock of his perceptions faced wholesale doubt. If presumed fondness equated mere endurance reflex, what did that render him? Had sentiments ever been authentically his? Or mere algorithms to quell terror?

This surge of unease echoed past episodes yet felt novel. Panic had visited before. Mortality had loomed. But this diverged. No outward peril—this dread targeted the essence of his history's purpose.

Tension wracked his breast more, and momentarily, true asphyxiation loomed. Not from absent oxygen, but faulty mechanics. Throat narrowed. Jaw locked unwittingly. Perspiration beaded at brows amid pervasive chill.

He stood exposed before a verity his mind had barred, divested of soothing narratives. Divested of rationales. Or perhaps clarity pierced now, unveiling the concealed reality, for certain deceptions shield the self, not outsiders.

And the chance that his cherished recollection was mere adaptation unnerved him beyond any clash.

***