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The tremors started a few centuries into their partnership.
Trepan always knew it was a matter of time. He’d stopped pacing his injections the moment he took up the role as Overlord’s teacher. Demonstrations were needed for their lessons, and he saw no point in denying himself anymore. Trepan had already outlived all his peers back at the Institute, far beyond the typical life expectancy of mnemosurgeons. After surviving so long, part of him thought he deserved it.
There was a thrill to it, indulging in this old addiction.
At first it was only the false memories, sudden flashbacks to moments he never experienced. They were initially no more than a mild annoyance, until they started assaulting him in his sleep. Many nights Trepan would find himself snapping awake from a dream that wasn’t his, body uncontrollably shaking as though trying to escape his own frame. Eventually the shaking grew into tremors that followed him throughout the day, thankfully sparing his hands so as to continue his indulgence.
Overlord noticed this change almost immediately. His reaction to Trepan’s explanation was unexpected, seeming almost concerned. It was almost sweet. He urged Trepan to stop injecting, or at least return to limiting their frequency. But Trepan waved off his concerns. The clock was already ticking, stopping now would buy him a miniscule amount of time on the grand scale of things. Not much use in fighting the reality of his function. Besides, it’ll be quite a while before his condition gets bad enough to affect the quality of their lessons.
What Trepan didn’t want to admit was that he didn’t know if he could stop.
It didn’t take much for Overlord to relent, though he was mildly displeased. Still, it wasn’t all bad. The injections were delightful for both of them. Overlord could not deny the sheer pleasure of watching Trepan perform his own unique brand of cruelty. There was something about having an audience while he reduced his victims to sobbing, desperate wrecks of their former selves, knowing full well what awaited them once Trepan was done. They complemented each other so perfectly. Truly intoxicating.
Overlord also insisted they recharged together. They’d grown close enough by then that it just made sense. Trepan appreciated this development most of all. Being wrapped up in those arms was just so grounding. The tremors always fade so much faster when he’s held in Overlord’s embrace, that heavy, powerful presence so uncharacteristically comforting.
Trepan could almost describe himself as happy. He had no complaints about their arrangement. Even if he was to die of a spark failure some unknown vorns down the line, it wouldn’t be all that bad.
He did hope that, at the very least, there’d be enough time for him to finish Overlord’s teachings before he goes.