"We are sorry, sir, but your mental screening came back with some problems. You are conditionally accepted upon further examination.”

  The words rang in the back of his mind. Not mentally stable enough?

  Dane stopped outside the therapist's door, the smell of antiseptic perfumed from under the door. The smell reminded Dane of the doctor's office. Therapy was always something that he associated with his mother's leaving. He didn't want to sit on a couch and talk about his feelings. He didn't want to unpack his past for a stranger.

  But he needed the money from the incursion.

  He drew a deep breath and pushed on the door. It moved despite the hinge creaking, suggesting its own reluctance. He had expected a mild-mannered figure in spectacles, someone soft-spoken and careful. Instead, he was greeted by a familiar green medic with long black tusks and a scar on his face. Where once he had worn black fatigues that pegged him for an imperial dog, now he wore a suit in earth fashion.

  "Is that you, Doc Green?"

  "Hmm." The orc studied him as if trying to place him. "You do look familiar. Remind me where we've met."

  "You treated my hand after my proving."

  Doc Green took both of Dane's hands without asking. He turned them over slowly, examining them with an intensity that lingered longer than was comfortable. His thumbs pressed into his skin and began to squint.

  He let go and returned to his seat, reaching for a notepad. He didn't bother to hide what he wrote. Delusional. In Elfish.

  "Please, sit," Doc Green said as he removed his topcoat and sank into a black recliner that looked a little too comfortable for a workplace. "I must have done a phenomenal job patching you up. There's no trace of the previous injury."

  His eyes flicked back to Dane's palms.

  "You have very rough hands. How long were you in the mines?"

  The dismissal in his tone almost made Dane bristle. But the confidence of the assumption caught him off guard. After all, he had rewound time to before his hands had ever seen labor. How does he know?

  "It's how you hold a pickaxe," Doc Green continued, as if Dane's thoughts were on display. Most who use weapons wear on the thumb and index finger. Yours are heavier toward the pinky and in the middle from gripping tightly. Those aren't from swordplay. That is from using a working tool."

  Dane swallowed, feeling as though he were an open book. "Two years."

  For just a moment, something shifted in the orc's expression. Suspicion faded, replaced by relief.

  "Before we begin," Doc Green said, settling back into his chair, "I should introduce myself properly. You already know my name. And since we have met before, you should know that I am crude. I may say things that hurt your feelings. Speak freely here. I will be blunt, and I expect the same from you.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  He folded his hands neatly in his lap before he continued.

  "You were sent to me because you've been deemed a liability."

  "I'm not a liability," Dane snapped. "I have skills. Magic. I need to be on the next ship out, or my sister will end up on the streets."

  "Let me finish." The orc waited until the silence became uncomfortable. "You exhibit signs of self-harm. Your mental screening tripped every alarm we have. We will address your trauma in this room. I will help you develop healthier coping mechanisms. And with my approval, you will go to your unit."

  He paused, then added, quieter but no less firm:

  "We do not have enough time to fix you properly. But I will do my best to ensure you have something to hold onto for what is coming."

  Dane stared at the floor.

  He had grown used to being spoken to gently, as a baron. It was usually a mix of respect and fear. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be spoken to like a child. The habit of not meeting disapproving eyes slipped back in.

  "I was a war slave when the elves came," Doc Green said.

  Dane looked up, searching for the truth in his words.

  "My parents were selected for the tutorial. I was saved from a monster by an elven patrol. I believed my problems were over."

  His voice was steady, but his eyes were not in the room anymore. The man was back inside of the memory.

  "That was nearly three hundred years ago. Back then, the natives were not trained. We were captured, caged, and shipped off within a week. I proved myself with the blood of my neighbors and earned a place in the incursions."

  A long silence followed. Dane could feel the pain radiating off him, but then his eyes dialed back in and were present once again.

  "That's enough about me," Doc Green said at last. "Tell me about your childhood."

  Dane hesitated, sorting through memories, deciding what could be spoken aloud.

  "That's enough," Doc Green interrupted. "Stop searching for the version of your story that will make me think what you want. Start at the beginning."

  Dane exhaled, and before he knew it, he was talking.

  "I was happy when the System came," he said. "My dad wasn't physically abusive, but he pushed me harder than any kid should be pushed. Nothing I did was good enough. When I succeeded, it was treated like an expectation."

  His hands curled into fists.

  "I spent a year fighting in the woods after mana came. Glenwood had been overrun, and my sister and I were against the world. Those were the happiest days of my life."

  Doc Green said nothing, instead moving to write some more things in his notes.

  "The elves picked us up when things had gotten bad. We weren't able to fight anymore and could only run from hideout to hideout. I thrived in the Earthbound camps."

  "Don't lie to yourself," the orc said. "They made you a slave; if you thrived, you would have been a warrior. I know what you went through.”

  "You don't," Dane replied, his voice sharp. "Not really. I did everything right. I followed the path. And when I thought I was fulfilling my purpose, I woke up on a shuttle, headed for the mines.”

  His jaw tightened involuntarily.

  "You got to fight. My entire reason for existing was to be a warrior. They used me to break rocks."

  "Is that when the suicidal thoughts began?”

  Dane went still, the words touching a place that he had never spoken out loud.

  Doc Green watched him carefully, the way that a hunter watches its prey.

  "You're defensive," the orc said. "We'll let that cool. But understand this, you're not angry at me."

  He stood up and began rolling up his sleeves. He glanced at his watch and nodded his head.

  "I smelled the alcohol when you walked in. I see the yellowing in your eyes."

  He opened the door and gestured for him to exit.

  "We don't need to be friends. But if you want to be on that incursion, you'll meet me at Onion Creek first thing tomorrow morning. Can you tell Ms. June that I am ready for my next appointment?"

  Dane rose and tried to conjure a portal. His mana dispersed before it could even begin to take shape. He walked out the normal way.