Once the lady started the car, I looked out the window. I was surprised that, despite being a large and heavy object, it made almost no noise. I also didn't notice any sudden movements along the way. It reminded me of what I felt when sliding down the dunes with Katia, my sister. That made me really happy. It calmed me a lot to realize that I can still find the good side within this strange reality.

"Oli, we're here," she announces.

I jump when I hear her. I was too absorbed. Despite that, I quickly compose myself and show her a big smile. I get one from her before she bends down to help me with the belt. I focus all my attention on what she does to repeat it correctly later. I don't know how much time I'll spend under her care, or should I say surveillance? Either way, depending on her for everything is no longer an option. The sooner I can recover, the sooner I can find a way to return home.

"The psychologist who is going to treat you is called Tara. She has been a friend of mine for a long time. We met at university. She is very kind and friendly. You will see that it is very easy to talk to her," says my companion.

"I like her name," I say through clenched teeth.

I can't think of anything else to express. Feigning excitement over an awkward, unsolicited meeting strikes me as absurd. No matter who that person is, it is quite difficult, if not impossible, for her to help me. What is happening to me is not even normal. I haven't seen anyone else with Gildestrale marks on their hands. They haven't mentioned it to me either. According to the lady, my scars are there because something very bad happened to me.

However, what I remember is nothing like what she remembers. Although we have hardly talked about the subject, she has given me some hints to understand that I was kidnapped by a man. If that had been the case, I would have clear memories of every second of what happened. My photographic memory would have burned it into my brain. But there is not a particle of said event in my head. Did I really experience something like that and forget everything? It is said that major traumas can cause a person to suppress memories. Could that have happened to me?

No matter how much I think about it, I don't believe it's possible. In my mind, I clearly see what happened to me before I woke up in this place. Witnessing the amputation of my hands and experiencing the permanent separation between my soul and my body was horrifying. If those brutal attacks count as kidnapping, then yes, I would agree with the woman. But none of that matches what little the lady has revealed to me. Apparently, she avoids the matter so as not to cause me harm.

Even my skills as a warrior, which I thought were lost, manifest themselves differently here. The things that happen to me now have never happened before. Why? Will there be other soldiers in this same situation? Will I be able to find them without revealing who I really am? I don't think I can tell any of this to anyone who isn't like me without them thinking I'm crazy. Who is going to believe me? This place is very different from Mánesvart. Nobody is going to take me seriously here. Apparently, Gildestrale's reapers do not exist here. Or, at least, that's how it had been until this very moment, well here I am. Am I a dimensional anomaly now?

"Oli, I'm sorry to take you out of your world, but it's almost time for the session. I wouldn't want to leave my friend waiting," says the lady as she gestures for me to follow her. "You've been very thoughtful, huh?"

"Ah yes, I'm a little distracted, sorry. I'm coming," I reply and bow my head.

For no apparent reason, I feel like a little girl being scolded. This feeling is foreign to me. My mother almost never did that with me. She didn't need to scold me to behave as I should. What I'm experiencing is more of a memory than a true emotion. But, if it really is a memory, who is it from? Before I dive back into my mind, the squeak of my companion's shoes brings me back to reality.

"This is Tara's office. Do you want me to come in with you for a moment?"

"No thank you very much. There's no need. I'll be fine."

The tense smile on my mouth is so fake that not even me gets convinced by it. I'm shaking, my hands are sweaty and my mouth is dry. I wish with all my might that she would accompany me. But I have to be brave. For a long time now, I have been the one who protects others, not the one who should be protected. That can't change right now, when I need my physical and mental strength the most.

"Sure, no problem."

The lady blinks quickly and gives me a squeeze on the shoulder. Then she turns around and walks away, leaving me alone in front of the psychologist's door. I stared at the wood for several seconds. I can almost hear the beating in my chest. I swallow hard, wipe the moisture from my palm on my clothes, and turn the knob. As soon as I cross the threshold, a young woman greets me on the other side. Although she is sitting, she immediately stands up to greet me.

"Good morning, Olivia! I'm Tara, but you can call me Ti if you prefer. It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, smiling.

Suddenly, she extends her right arm towards me. As I have seen, they do this gesture here as a greeting. She leaves her hand in the air and looks at me, expectantly. She surely hopes that her gesture will be reciprocated. I purse my lips and my pulse skyrockets. I can't hold her hand! I have no idea what will happen to her if I do. I still don't quite understand what's going on with my abilities here. I don't want to put this person at risk. But will it be too rude of me to ignore her? An idea comes to me suddenly and I use it without hesitation.

"Excuse me, but I have some wounds that are still healing. I don't want to damage this sensitive skin."

I hold out my hands to show her the red scars. Although they no longer hurt, their appearance is shocking enough for my excuse to sound credible.

"Oh, it's true! I'm so sorry! Please excuse me for forgetting about it."

The woman removes her palm immediately. Her face contorts into a grimace of discomfort. She puts her hands in her clothing pockets and clears her throat. It takes her a moment to compose her face.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. You can sit in the reclining chair or lie down on the chaise lounge, as you prefer."

I look away at what she's pointing at. There is some kind of sofa, but there is nowhere to lay one's back. It looks weird, I don't like it. So, I choose to use the chair. Once I settle there, Tara places herself in front of me. A large wooden table separates us. I watch her arrange some papers on it. Then, she takes a thin cylinder and traces some letters on the paper. Oh! That instrument does the same thing we can do with Raugen feathers in Mánesvart, but it looks very different. What will it be made of?

"Ready! Forgive the delay. Now, we are ready to start our meeting."

Next, she touches a rounded artifact on the table. Soft, low-volume music emerges from it. I smile from ear to ear when I hear the melody. It makes me remember the beautiful songs that my caregiver sings for me. However, my momentary joy fades as soon as I hear the psychologist's voice.

"Olivia, please tell me: how do you feel about talking today?"

"Talk about what?" I blurt out without thinking.

"You can start telling me whatever you want from wherever you can think of. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. There will be no judgments or criticisms about what you say here. It's a safe space for you to talk, okay?"

"Yeah."

She smiles and focuses her attention on me. I lean forward, avoiding her gaze. Almost as a reflex, I start playing with my fingers. I don't know where to start, if at all. As I fight my own mind, I remember the face of the girl whose soul I absorbed. I relive the anguish and pain she felt when she was murdered. I cannot allow more souls like hers to continue suffering as they fall prey to the Dákamas. If I want to be useful to Gildestrale, I must heal and understand what is happening to me.

I don't know how long it goes by without a single word coming out of my mouth. But, when the silence starts to get too heavy, I move my lips to encourage myself. If I don't talk to someone about what's happening to me, I feel like I'm going to explode. I think I have nothing to lose and maybe I can get some help. I take a deep breath and say a sentence without stopping to analyze it, just as Tara asked me to.

"You probably think I'm crazy, but the only thing I remember is the moment they ripped my hands off."

Instead of showing disbelief or denying what I say, since it is very clear that I still have hands, the psychologist nods her head.

"I see. Who tore them from you?"

"It was a Dákama."

"Could you describe what a Dákama is for you?"

"It is a specter made of dark feelings. Its face and body are pale. It has several wings. You can see its bones and tendons because it has almost no skin. In their hollow belly, they carry a moving cloud of light."

"That's very interesting, Olivia. Now tell me, in what way did the Dákama tear off your hands?"

"First, it hit my chest with its hand and I remained motionless. My soul left my body and, from there, I saw how the Dákama used its fingers to tear off my hands. It ate them in front of me and then laughed."

"I understand. If what you just told me is your clearest memory of what happened to you, I suspect you might have had a hallucination or a dream."

"Do you think so?"

"It's a possibility. Sometimes, the mind can mask traumatic situations with images and sounds that are different from the real ones, but that, in some way, resemble or represent them. It is a defense mechanism to cope with experiences that overwhelm us on a physical and mental level."

I let out a sigh. I look at my hands again. I stretch and contract my fingers several times. I slide my fingertips over the scars. I feel the tingling on my skin. Yes, my hands exist and work well. Is it possible that I really imagined that I was losing them in battle?

"Is there anything else you want to tell me? Maybe, you can tell me about the day your mom found you. She told me some things about that moment, but I'd like to know your perspective on it. But only if you can share it, of course. I'm not going to force you. You are always in control of what you want to tell me."

The day my mom found me? I open my eyes wide. My jaw goes slack. Of course! I know what she means! I have been so determined to remember everything about the battle that I left out what I saw when the lady rescued me. I still don't know what was happening there, but I have clear memories of it in my head.

"Well, now that you mention it, there is something else I can tell you. I remember seeing a man with a beard. I was lying in a somewhat deep hole and he saw me from above. He seemed scared of something. I saw him struggling to push a log."

"Have you seen that man before?"

"No, never. Or, at least, I don't remember seeing him."

"And what did that man want to do with the log? Was he trying to hurt you?"

"Yes, he threw it right at me. I was too weak and injured to get up, but I was able to move a little to avoid it. I barely made it, but I still got hurt because the log rolled in my direction. Its weight was crushing me. That's when I heard my mom calling me."

I know that calling the lady who takes care of me 'mom' is a lie. She is not my mother! However, being encouraged to use that word out loud makes me feel warmth in my chest. Pronouncing it, for some reason I don't know, gives me the strength to continue speaking.

"I was about to lose consciousness when I heard a bang. The man cursed loudly and began to walk away from there. He was holding his arm. When he left, some people came and talked to my mother. Then, they left along the same path as the man. At that moment, she jumped into the hole, moved the log, and from then on, I didn't know what else happened. I think I fainted."

"I see. What you just told me matches what your mom remembers."

"Really?"

"That's how it is. She saw it too. The police are looking for that man."

Police? What's that? I wrinkle my brow and scratch the side of my head. When am I going to stop coming across words I don't understand? I sigh slowly and try to forget about that part. I choose to focus on the other one, the most important fragment of our conversation. Many questions run through my mind. I'm dizzy. My stomach turns just thinking about the possible answers I will get. Still, I need to know them.

"But then, do you think I dreamed of the Dákama ripping off my hands when I fainted? Do you think the Dákama is actually that bearded man?"

"I couldn't say for sure, but it's probable. Maybe that dream after the attack you were a victim of had been clouding what really happened to you. Maybe that was the way you found to deal with what happened, at least until today. But that has just started to change and it will be for the better, I assure you. You made great progress in letting me know about those experiences. You know that, right?"

I don't know how I should feel about what Tara says. The serenity of her face is disconcerting. How can she say I'm making progress if I still don't understand what's happening to me? She thinks the Dákamas are mere hallucinations! How could I prove to her that these creatures are not only real, but also deadly? How exasperating! Despite the mental chaos that unbalances me, I choose to respond calmly.

"No, I did not know. I guess that's good," I say quietly.

"Yes, it is. How do you feel now?"

"I'm more confused than before. I don't know if I can trust my own mind. I don't even know if what I remember is true or not. You said yourself that I could have hallucinated. I feel like I'm living someone else's life. I feel like there are a lot of things I should know, but I can't remember them. It is difficult to explain."

"Can you tell me when you started feeling this way?"

"Since I woke up in the hospital. My body, my face, everything seems foreign to me!"

My voice breaks until it becomes a sob. Although I blink quickly to stop the tears, they slide like rain down my cheeks. Tara remains silent as I let out my desperation. When I finally regain my composure, she hands me a piece of paper to clean up.

"Thank you very much for sharing your thoughts and feelings with me, Olivia. You are a very brave young lady. What you have done today is just the first step, but many more will come. You'll be better, you'll see."

"I hope so."

"For today, I think that has been enough. I suggest you go home to rest. You need it. I do not wish to overwhelm you."

"Alright."

"If you encounter a Dákama or the bearded man in your dreams again, try to remember as much as you can. Anything you see and hear could be helpful. It may be a good idea to have a pencil and paper near your bed. This way, you can write down what you remember as soon as you wake up. Does that sound good to you?"

"Yeah."

"Little by little, we are going to work together so that you can have your life back as you knew it." She gets up from her seat to open the door for me. "See you next week."

"See you later."

I bow a little and wave a hand to say goodbye. I leave at a slow pace. When the office door closes, I let out a long breath. Did she talk about having my life back as I knew it? That life I had no longer exists. There's no way I can go back to it. Nothing will ever be the same. But maybe there is a way to clarify, even if it is just a little, why I am here, why I have this new identity. If I still have a purpose, if I can still rescue souls from the Dákamas claws, if I can return to my world, I want to do it. I am willing to pay any price necessary to achieve it.