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You knocked on the large door, the sound echoing through the corridor. When you received no response, you pushed the door open, a wave of cold air hitting you in the face. He’d only just returned from Sumeru, the Dendro Gnosis successfully obtained. In a flurry of rants and ramblings, he’d locked himself away, desiring to preserve as much as he could before it faded.
A desperate shiver sat at the bottom of your spine, waiting to jolt your very bones as you crossed the threshold and your eyes confirmed what your gut already knew.
Segment creation was not for the faint of heart or will. When he showed you the first time, revealed to you how he manipulated the ley lines, he’d made it look so seamless, so easy. The Segment always came out as intended, full faculties and memory up until that exact time.
You’d only seen it go wrong once and that was the result of cutting corners on creating the vessel.
Rare occasions, such as this, were reminders.
Dottore, crumpled on the floor, as if the session stole the last of his willpower. Shoulders wracked with shuddering breaths, eyes closed, his mask off on a nearby desk, and sweat beaded at his hairline. He mumbled something in a language you recognized but didn’t understand, a dialect outside of the Common Tongue, and for his sake, you never brought yourself to ask for the meaning.
You approached slowly, carefully. Soft steps but not too soft. If he didn’t hear you, or if you walked too fast or too loudly, he would be further agitated and sink deeper.
Kneeling next to him, you murmured, “Dottore.”
You knew his proper name but previous experience lent itself to knowing better than to use it. So many of these moments consisted of his true name.
He titled his head towards you slightly, as if he hadn’t quite been certain if you were real or a mirage.
“Lord Harbinger, it’s me,” you continued, soft and steady, offering your name as an anchor.
He repeated it, the syllables fractured, as one tested an unfamiliar word. More confidently a second time. Eyes the color of fresh ice opened slowly, unfocused; he was still lost.
“Are they gone?” he asked, raising his head more and scanned the room quickly.
There was enough light that all corners of the room were visible, all furniture exposed. No one could hide in here, no shadows to cast doubts.
“They’re gone, Lord Harbinger,” you soothed. “You’re safe.”
His breathing still hadn’t evened out and you could tell from the clenching of his jaw and the deep furrow of his brow that he didn’t believe you. That the leyline still had its claws in his mind and refused to come free easily this time.
“I was only trying to help,” he insisted, voice cracking, body crumpling again like a puppet without its strings. “I didn’t mean for…”
You pulled him towards you and in return, he clung to you, his anchor, as his mind continued to drift. Your fingers smoothed his hair and your lips offered gentle reminders as he weathered a storm only he could feel. He was a ship lost at sea, tossed amid waves of memories. His will would hold, it always did, but even the strongest bough of a tree bent with enough pressure.
When his breathing finally evened out, he shifted, laying as to rest his head in your lap and look up at you. Dottore reached up and cupped your cheek, the leather cold and stiff.
“I would be lost without you, you know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” you replied.
You tilted your head and pressed your lips to his palm. The Harbinger adjusted again, settling into a slightly more comfortable position before shutting his eyes again.
“You have no intention of getting up, do you?”
“No. I believe that’s enough for one day.”
A lie, you knew. But you would take what few moments you could steal away, when quiet and calm ruled, however brief they were.