The rest of the week passed in a pretty monotonous manner, even if every day greatly differed from one to another. Sam got up, sometimes feeling like shit straight from the get go and sometimes it took him a couple of seconds to slide back down into melancholy. He never showered in the morning, so there was no chance for him to break out crying then. Although once, on Thursday, he started crying in the middle of cultivating, which was really a shame as that could’ve been the session that lasted all the way through his morning free time.

  Then came his morning exercise. And the even days were way better than the odd ones, as he couldn’t listen to neither music nor podcasts while training with Lin. And even though the spearfighting sessions were more mentally engaging than his other workouts, they were still not the type of engagement Sam was looking for. Which put a big damper on his hopes for his ability to one day become a great fighter. Sure, he could probably list a dozen different examples of characters that were great fighters despite breaking the trope of loving to fight, loving to train, or loving the ‘art’ and all that other bullshit. Characters that became great fighters because they had too, simply through perseverance if not desire. But even if those kind of characters weren’t solely found in fiction, even if there were great masters to be found in history who didn’t enjoy what they did and just did it because they had to. Even then, it would’ve been way fucking easier if Sam loved what he had to do.

  Well he didn’t hate it, so that was a small comfort. And he almost loved training in and studying magic. At least some aspects of magic. He greatly enjoyed tracing, despite his many failures in the recent week. The promise of bending reality to his will held the lion’s share of the draw, sure, but the act of tracing itself was also pretty fun. When he knew what he was doing, at least. The act of studying tracings… that was less fun, but he could still say that he mostly enjoyed it. Or maybe that was due to the fact that he wasn’t studying anything new, and just the same “old” tracings that he was already familiar with.

  And gathering… honestly, he didn’t know how he felt about gathering. Not too long ago, Yvessa told him that his proclivity to sit down and cultivate at any given opportunity shouldn’t be dismissed as a common behavior. Of course, back then, Sam was more than happy to spend so much time cultivating; he felt no pain from missed pleasure nor displeasure from the cultivation process itself. Now, though, things weren’t so clear.

  His desires, such as they were, were starting to return to him, as evidenced by the fact that he felt happier (read, less sad) when he left Dan’s office early on Wednesday and today when compared to Tuesday and Thursday. Or, that when he finished the documentary episode on Wednesday and realized he only had fifteen minutes before he had to leave for dinner, the one thought raging through his head while he tried to cultivate was that he could be doing something else, anything else. But was that him wanting to pursue an avenue of greater pleasure? Or was that him suffering through the boredom of cultivating and wanting something that wasn’t as painful?

  And it’s not like cultivating was all that boring. There was joy to be found in performing the most basic techniques of the most basic magical act. Sure, right now, there wasn’t much complexity to the steps Sam had to go through to complete a successful cycle. But each one, even the seeking which came so unnaturally natural to him, had plenty of place for improvement. Each one was like a challenge onto its own, woven together into a whole that kept Sam’s focus sharp and spirits raised when he was able to sink into the practice. The problem was that it was much harder to sink into the practice. His mind was too agitated to be able to dedicate as much of itself to cultivating as it could two weeks ago.

  Still, when he managed to lose himself in the zone, it really did feel like magic sometimes. The adrenaline rush of a job well done, the promise of greater heights and duties fulfilled in the future, all in the space of his own mind, all bound and directed solely by his intellect. No physical pain from physical shortcomings, no butting his head against the wall trying to understand something he had no idea how to solve. Only five simple steps, three stages, and two techniques. But it had all gone wrong when his mind came right. Even though everything else positive still held true, he had a much harder time appreciating it, like he did before. He found his attention slipping for simple reasons, like a memory choosing to resurface at a random moment, or a downtrodden mood that made it harder to just sit there and think outwards.

  But there was still joy to be found in both tracing and cultivating. Joy enough to make the time he spent practicing them seem more than just worthwhile, but also healthy. A form of release through training. His magic lessons with Dan, the few sessions of cultivating and the one of tracing that he managed to sit through alone, felt akin to working out in that sense. He couldn’t claim that he wanted to do them, but he did, mostly, leave them feeling better about himself.

  Which meant that, overall, he was feeling… better. Not happier. But less unhappy. He wondered how long he’ll have to keep making that distinction as he returned to his room after his last lesson with Dan for the week. Probably longer than you want. Hopefully shorter than you think. He shook his head with a sigh; he had more pressing problems to deal with.

  Because the rest of the day was wide open and he didn’t know what he was going to do. He had inklings of stuff that he wanted to do, but acting on those would require him to formulate a coherent plan and go through a lengthy decision-making process. So instead, he decided to start with what he had to do: fifteen to twenty minutes of spearfighting exercise. He got carried away a little bit, to a half hour, due to enjoying the music blaring through the speakers and dreading the fork he will have to arrive at once he finished.

  But an exercise longer by ten minutes later still resulted in a finished exercise once those ten minutes have lapsed, which meant that he had to choose what to do next. He could take a shower now, even though he wasn’t all that sweaty after the short workout (and how could he be? With the AC turned on to heights his shitty blood circulation would never have allowed his ears to suffer through before). And that would be the most… was polite right the word? Socially respectable? Never mind, that would be what one does before they go to a fancy dinner on a Friday evening. But Sam wasn’t one to shower before family events when his body odor did not require that of him. And in this case, Maurice and Sarah were pretty much family as far as Sam was concerned, from the point of view that he didn’t care about trying to impress them.

  And besides, he never liked going out after taking a shower. That’s why he never understood morning shower people. Like sure, showering twice a day, before and after bed, he definitely got that. It made sense. He wasn’t a practitioner of that habit, but he dabbled, and rather frequently as of late. A morning shower gave you a lot of benefits. It helped you wake up, make yourself clean and pretty for your social interactions, or even just helped maintain your sanity if you worked from home and were struggling from the negative effects of evolution being slow as fuck.

  But what it didn’t do was get you ready for bed. And for Sam, that was the most important role of the shower. A shower meant that you finished with the outside world for the day. If need be, you could hop on the mattress and fall asleep right there and then. You were clean and ready. But, if you took an evening shower and then left to the outside… what was the point? What, you weren’t going to get dirty? Yes you fucking were. Sure, maybe switching clothes would get rid of most of it, but some still lingered. Enough so that if you hadn’t already taken a shower that evening, you probably would’ve taken one in order to clean yourself of that “small” amount.

  Now obviously, this was all an ideal. Sam definitely had nights that he went to sleep after going out and only showering before that. And he probably also had some nights where he didn’t shower at all. Wait, why probably? Who was he trying to fool? He was in the hospital, for fuck’s sake. Although… cleanliness standards are different in the hospital. It’s really not a good baseline for one to build his daily practices on.

  “Ah…” he sighed as he stretched on the bed because of course that’s were his shitty instincts, and him being a prime piece of shit, led him to. Devaluing the entire chain of thought he was currently going through. A chain of thought that was also totally meaningless because he had already decided that he wasn’t going to shower right now and that he’ll shower after coming back. A decision that was made not because of any argument raised in the last couple of minutes, but because of the instant realization of what showering right now meant. It meant meditating before the day was over. And if Sam wanted to keep his struggling meditation practice going, forcing himself to do it in the middle of the day was out of the picture.

  So there he lay. Head filled with thoughts that for once felt like they belonged to who he really was. Not Sam Anders of the last two weeks, suffering from anything and everything. Not Sam Anders of the weeks before, almost immune to any negative emotional impact. But the real Sam Anders, the person he was when stripped from the mentality altering influence of his increasingly traumatic recent experiences. But of course, there wasn’t a real Sam Anders underneath it all. There was only him at any given point in time; him feeling different things and thinking in different ways. But right now, he almost felt like he did all that time ago, before the accident. Still not happy. Still not perfect. Still not where he dreamed to be. But the happiest he has ever been with himself. The best version of himself up till that point. The furthest he had ever made it.

  He lost himself for some time in that feeling. Not thinking anything concrete, but thinking like he used to. Feeling like he used to. Thoughts rushing from topic to topic, from images to images. Stories popping up for the first time in what seemed like ages. Oh god… He covered his eyes with a choked up sigh. He had so many stories. Once there wouldn’t have been a day that passed without him losing himself in his imagination for at least a couple of minutes. But whatever remained of that habit after the accident, becoming a Taken deprived him of even that.

  And how was he going to bring it back? Should he even bring it back? How did these modern people do it? How did they fantasize while living in fantasy? Oh, he certainly knew how. Same as he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to dream up anything fictional any time soon. Besides, his stories were always too fucking self-centered to survive him actually living in a story that centered around him.

  “So much for peaceful contemplation.” He rolled to the side before slowly getting up. God, he felt like showering right now. Just put on some music and curl into a ball on the shower floor for the next hour or so. Letting out all the tears he suddenly felt were lodged in his throat; crying for all the times that he managed not to in the passing week. But he didn’t want to shower right now, and he already said that he wasn’t going to.

  So instead, he left his room, and went out to buy himself ice cream while trying to keep himself focused solely on choosing the movie he was going to watch when he got back. By the time he sat down in his chair, ice cream left to melt a little with a tissue underneath, he had already made his choice. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to watch it all that much, but he was sure that he wanted the catharsis he hoped it will give him. Like that one time.

  Shortly before he graduated, he was hit by what was, up until that point, one of the worst depression episodes he had ever experienced. It probably wasn’t the worse, but it was very recent compared to most others, and it left a lasting impression by the sole virtue that he had no reason to start feeling depressed during that week. And no reason for that depression to carry on for three whole weeks before starting to abate. But people are weird like that. Back then, Sam didn’t find any fault with him feeling sad for seemingly no reason. He was simply angry at feeling sad in the first place, at the mind that would allow him to sink so deep. At a world that couldn’t give him an immediate treatment and send him happy on his way.

  But even if that wasn’t so long ago, he no longer remembered the turn of events as accurately as he once had. But, if he wasn’t wrong, the seeds for his depression already started sprouting on a Saturday evening. Sinking their roots deep on Sunday before announcing themselves in full force by Monday. On Thursday morning, Sam had no doubt that he was depressed. He didn’t need the full half an hour of crying trying to fall asleep that night to prove that to him.

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  But what mattered the most about that whole saga to the current Sam—who was somehow feeling both better and worse than he did back then—was what he did the following day, on Wednesday. He started the morning with a visit to his therapist, as he was still visiting him in the mornings back there. And the conversation obviously veered greatly from what they’ve been talking about the week prior; the problem of anxiety which seemed the plague of Sam’s life back then. Instead, they probably talked about depression and feeling bad; Sam, for the life of him, couldn’t remember anything that was actually said during that meeting.

  But what he acutely remembered was showering after dinner, skipping meditation, and settling down to watch a movie. A movie he had already watched two or maybe three times before. A movie he had only watched one more time since then. And a movie that almost took twice as long as it’s run time to finish because Sam had to keep pausing in order to cry his eye out, blow his nose, and browse the internet until he calmed down enough to go back to the movie. The movie, by all accounts, had a happy ending, and it wasn’t all that sad throughout, if one looked at it objectively. But it tugged at all the right strings in Sam’s heart and made him feel a dozen times worse while he watched it and a hundred times better after it was over. He was still depressed afterwards; the episode lasted for about two more weeks after all. But he didn’t cry going to sleep that Wednesday night and he felt distinctly less burdened on Thursday morning.

  Of course, this walk down memory lane couldn’t have taken place while he was going to buy ice cream. It had to have happened right now, as the ice cream was slowly melting and his finger was hovering over the spacebar. Because even though this was the movie he chose, and this was the probably best movie he could choose for his current circumstances. There was a reason why he waited so long to watch it when before he had only waited two days. He was afraid. Afraid of tainting a precious memory. Afraid that he was simply going to feel worse after, that all his crying wouldn’t help him feel any better. But most of all, he was afraid that he wasn’t going to cry at all. That he changed too much, that he somehow was completely different to the same person he was not that long ago. That the movie would simply have no effect on him.

  He sighed. “Only one way to find out.” He pushed play.

  It turned out that some of his fears came true. His experience of watching the movie really was drastically different this time. Because he didn’t pause at any single point. He kept it playing and kept watching even when the tears flowed freely and he couldn’t see the screen from behind his tissue. Somewhere along the halfway point, he finished the ice cream and consoled himself by saying that he still had a whole dinner waiting for him later. Unfortunately, or fortunately, without the ice cream, he had no emotional support for the approaching climax of the film; the worst point in the story before it was all going to get better. But he pushed on through it. Through the plunge and up the other side. It took him an extra hour after the movie was over, which he spent watching ViewTube clips, to finally stop crying every two minutes.

  Which still left him plenty of time until his evening appointment. Plenty of time to create a character, as the game was already all modded and adjusted to be able to play on his modern system. Plenty of time to rush through the origin prologue and maybe even finish with the wilds. If he was going to rush through, at least. That was another choice, wasn’t it? Play as though this was his first time with the game and try to take his time with everything and everyone. Or play as he usually did and end up finishing the game way earlier than most people. “Eh, let’s just wing it.”

  The time passed way too fast and without his notice, but thankfully he had set an alarm in the morning, so he was brought back to reality just in time to get dressed and go down to meet Sarah. This turned to be one of the few rare occasions where Sarah was late to meet him, as it took her all of two minutes to arrive, dressed way fancier than Sam was.

  “Nice dress,” Sam said.

  She gave a mock curtsy. “Thank you very much. Nice t-shirt and jeans.”

  “I did think of wearing a more refined shirt. But… Yeah, I don’t have an excuse.”

  “Really? No excuse?”

  “I guess I could’ve said that I don’t like wearing shirts with buttons. But that’s not strictly true. And even if it were, it would be a very bad excuse, considering what we’re going to be attired with in a couple of years.”

  “Well you dressed fine enough, don’t worry about it. Besides, don’t you remember how Esther dressed? At the heights we’re aiming for, we can wear whatever the fuck we want.”

  “And do you want to wear that dress?”

  “Yeah. I like looking pretty. Sue me.”

  “Maybe later. C’mon let’s go, I’m starving.”

  Sarah nodded, and they started walking towards the parking lot where Maurice was supposed to be waiting for them. “Everything alright Sam?” Sarah asked after a minute’s walking in silence and spending that entire minute looking at him with concern.

  “Yep,” Sam said. “Pretty good. Why?”

  “You look… a little different.”

  “Just cried a bunch. You know how it is.”

  “Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  “Hey, come on now, it’s more than alright. Don’t act like it’s the first time this happened. Or that this happening is a bad thing. You’re allowed to ask me if I’ve been crying.”

  “Maybe I can, but I’m sorry anyway. Didn’t mean to bring it up. I don’t want you to focus on… other stuff tonight. Tonight should be a happy occasion. We’re celebrating Earth as only the people who lived on it can.”

  “I thought we were celebrating the end of the trimester.”

  “That too. But since we’re also celebrating you joining us and us getting to meet you, we should also celebrate where we all came from. A three for one.”

  “Just as long as this doesn’t evolve into any other celebration. I’m reaching the edge of my allowance for celebrating stuff.”

  “No more celebrations that weren’t already agreed upon. Promise.”

  Sam nodded and hoped that Sarah would uphold her word.

  “But you are fine, right?” Sarah asked again. “Everything alright?”

  “I told you, yes. I’m feeling fine. Ready to celebrate.”

  She pursed her lips, obviously still worried and not mollified, but decided against pursing that line of inquiry any further. “So what did you do with your free time today? Please don’t say cultivating.”

  “No cultivating.”

  “Or studying or training.”

  “Would be a lot simpler if you just let me tell you what I did…”

  Sarah gestured him to continue.

  “So I came back from Dan, did Lin’s exercise. Rested for a bit. Then watched a movie. Some clips and played a game. All in all, a fun, relaxing afternoon. No work involved.”

  “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

  “Please don’t be proud of me for that.”

  “Alright, not proud then. Happy. I’m happy for you.”

  “I’m happy for me as well. Now no one can say that I’ve not fully embarked on the road to recovery. Let’s hope that it won’t take too long on this road before I’m able to return to my old schedule.”

  “Old schedule? You’re still not going to consider easing it a little? Perhaps on Saturdays?”

  “The old schedule is the ideal goal. We’ll see whether it’s practical as we get close to it.”

  “Good. Just remember that even when you’ll start feeling better, that rest is still important. Pay heed to the stuff you said when I first met you. About having the right balance of leisure and work, and being rightly worried about not having enough of the former.”

  “Trust me. I’m thinking about that constantly.”

  “Well, constantly isn’t perhaps the best…”

  “You’ll never be satisfied until I’m fully shaped by your hands, will you, Ms. Khan?” Sam asked with a genuine smile.

  Sarah chuckled sheepishly. “Maybe not even then.”

  They arrived at the parking lot shortly after and were promptly greeted by Maurice pulling up beside them in a car that was way below his pay grade.

  “Not one for fancy automobiles, doctor?” Sam asked as he got into the backseat.

  “I like these models.” Maurice patted the dashboard. “Reminds me of the cars my family drove when I grew up.”

  “I like it too,” Sarah said, closing the door behind her.

  “You’re not sitting in the front?” Sam asked her.

  “So? What’s the problem with that?”

  “I just want to know why you chose to do that. According to the etiquette my parents taught me, the driver should not be sitting upfront alone if passengers are available to keep him company.”

  The car started driving forwards as Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Just didn’t feel like sitting in the front. Maurice is fine with it.”

  “Perfectly fine.” Maurice nodded.

  Sam narrowed his eyes at Sarah, who was staring squarely ahead while trying to appear innocent. “Fine. I’ll let this one slide. If you’re driving, does that mean you’re not going to be drinking tonight, Maurice?”

  “No celebratory meal is complete without a glass or two of wine. Although I do wonder why you’re asking, since I believe the question of my alcohol intake never came up before.”

  “You know why.”

  “Well it’s good to see your sense of humor coming back. But don’t worry, I’ll have a pattern active all throughout the evening. Just the taste of the wine, none of the effects.”

  “Huh. Does that mean that people in fancy wine tasting events no longer carry a goblet for their spit? Or do they still keep the practice because it makes the experience more complete?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to one. But I’ll be sure to ask the sommelier for you.”

  “Oh God. This place has a sommelier?”

  “Fancy restaurant, remember?” Sarah laughed.

  “Well I don’t care what Felix says, nor do I care that I can get drunk now. I’m not drinking any alcohol. They’re just empty calories and I don’t like the taste anyway.”

  “Couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t raise getting drunk as an objection to drinking.”

  “Yeah… I don’t know. I do like most of the experience, at least in an ideal setting, of getting drunk. The general lifting of worries, lightheartedness, you know the deal. But I’ve never got drunk before while depressed, and I don’t think it’s a very smart first to embark upon right now. Also, it’s mostly that I hate the taste of alcohol and I’m cheap as fuck.”

  “An understandable and sensible position,” Maurice remarked, “the first part, at least. But will you still allow leave of your convictions one fraction by sharing with us a glass of wine and a cheerful salute?”

  “Are you trying to convince me to drink? Aren’t you a doctor?”

  “Oui.” Maurice smiled thinly.

  Sam was forced to chuckle. “I’ll think about that.” He turned to Sarah. “So, how did your last day of exams go?”

  Maurice’s ears perked up as Sarah shrugged and said, “Pretty good. I’m feeling confident.”

  “Even about Biological Healing?” Maurice asked.

  “Even about that. I might’ve not aced the test, but I’m pretty sure that I’ll end up with a good grade. And that’s good enough as far as I’m concerned. I’m not going to shuttle to another academy to learn the advanced course next year anyway. So I don’t even care what grade I get.”

  “I could teach you… If you wanted to study the advanced material.”

  The immediate and expected pause required for another person to give an answer stretched into an uncomfortable silence as Sarah refused to give hers for quite a while. Eventually, she just said, “I’ll think about that… Thanks.”

  Maurice gave a nod, opting to leave the topic alone. The short drive was soon over, and in less than five minutes they were already sitting inside the restaurant being waited upon. Thankfully, even though the venue had both a valet and a sommelier and no waiting line despite being full, it did not have a dress code, so Sam’s casual wear wasn’t something to be remarked upon, even if it did stand out somewhat.

  With expert advice from the waiter, their orders were soon made, and they were just left waiting on the sommelier. Who in turn gave expert advice to Maurice and Sarah, as less expert advice was necessary for Sam, who just asked for the sweetest, least like alcohol-like wine they had available.

  “It’s a very good wine you chose,” Maurice told Sam once the sommelier had left. “You’ll enjoy it.”

  “I doubt I’ll enjoy it more than the coke I also ordered, but I’m willing to humor you. It’s your money after all… You are paying, right?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Why do you care?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t know… guess I just don’t want to deal with having to pay, splitting the bill, that kind of thing.”

  “Well you can rest easy,” Maurice said. “Tonight is my treat.”

  “Cheers to that.”

  Of course, when their drinks arrived a few moments later, they did not cheer to that, but rather to something a little more mundane and unworthy. “To Sam and Sarah.” Three glasses were raised as Maurice continued, “May the coming years harbor only success and happiness for the both of you.”

  “Thanks,” Sam muttered, and took a big sip of the wine to hide his… emotions. Credit where credit’s due, though. The wine was pretty good. Not as good as coke, but still worth it if you wanted to get drunk. Theoretically at least. Sam didn’t know how much it cost, so it was very likely that it was the farthest thing from worth it.

  “So how was your week?” Maurice asked Sam while doing that thing where people swish their wine glass around (Sam was mostly sure that it actually did something and that it wasn’t totally a pretentious and reasonless action).

  “Same as last week, I suppose. But at the same time better. Nothing new to complain about, at least. Especially not from a physical-medical point.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. So does that mean that tomorrow you’re having a spearfighting lesson in the morning?”

  “That’s the plan, yes. Don’t see a reason for me to wake up not being able to go like last week. Again, physically. Mentally… who knows what the fuck is going to happen.”

  “Fair enough. And at the very least, if you do end up getting drunk tonight, I’ll trace you back to good health before we part, so that you do not wake up tomorrow with a hangover and a physical reason not to go.”

  “This is all the alcohol I’m going to be drinking tonight.” Sam raised the half emptied glass.

  And he stood by that promise. By the end of the night, his alcohol intake remained the lowest of the three Taken. Although Maurice was the only one who really drank enough to raise an eyebrow. But since he had a pattern counteracting the effects of his imbibing, he was probably the least drunk at every point throughout dinner. Sarah, in contrast, drank a far more reasonable amount, but still enough to get, by her own admission, tipsy and lightheaded.

  And to be fair to her, an occasion such as tonight was the perfect, most rational opportunity for a person in their circumstances to get drunk. Filled with reminiscing about the lost Earth, recalling happy and sad childhood memories, and discussing the experience of living in such a way that no human will ever understand again for the rest of time.