The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,79

layer of sweat covering his body. His hands were clammy, and it was hard for him to catch his breath. It felt like someone was standing on his chest. As Dr. Brighton greeted him with a stiff demeanor and a serious scowl, Landon could sense a level of detachment between his favorite professor and himself. It was worrisome, and his nerves were getting to him.

Dr. Brighton shut the door and took a seat behind his desk.

“Landon, I have a question for you. What did you think our private sessions were about?”

“Helping me with my abilities,” Landon answered, almost as a question. He wasn’t getting a good feeling about this meeting. He was second-guessing everything, worrying that at any moment he’d be expelled from the one place that could help him. He had just started to feel like he was making progress.

“At the most basic level . . . yes,” Dr. Brighton replied coldly. “The sessions were intended to help you with your abilities, but there was more to them than that.”

“What do you mean?” a confused Landon asked.

Dr. Brighton clasped his hands together, set his arms on his desktop and leaned forward in his seat. He looked at Landon with a serious scowl.

“When we found you, we discovered that you had an uncharted amount of raw power. There hasn’t been a student before you with such potential. As such, we expected you to progress quickly . . . but that wasn’t the case. You proved to be one of the least adept students we’ve ever brought to the Gymnasium.”

“But I’ve been getting better,” Landon interrupted. He couldn’t help but try and defend himself. Dr. Brighton was speaking to him in a strange tone of voice. It was distant and formal, much like how Professor Clemens had spoken to him in the cafeteria. Landon had grown used to a more informal, quirky rapport with his professor. This was strange and foreign, but Dr. Brighton appeared to be having difficulty keeping up the façade. He was struggling to keep his emotions in check, but what scared Landon most was the emotion Dr. Brighton seemed to be fighting back. What Landon read on Dr. Brighton’s face was disappointment.

“What we failed to take into account was that when you arrived here, you weren’t just a massive source of untapped talent—you were broken. Something was halting your progress, and you only seemed to be able to use your abilities when you were angry or frustrated. Your powers were fundamentally linked to your emotions. I thought if I worked with you one on one, figured out what was holding you back, you might be rehabilitated into the exceptional student we all expected you to be.

“Initially, the sessions appeared to be working. You were improving and gaining control, but you were still far behind the other students. As I told you during our first session, your abilities are supposed to be instinctual, but you still had to concentrate and actively engage your abilities to use them. It was a serious issue. Drastic measures had to be taken.”

“Our last session,” Landon accidentally said aloud. His body trembled as he watched Dr. Brighton’s lip form every word. Why was Dr. Brighton telling him all this?

“Yes, our last session,” Dr. Brighton confirmed. “With every week that went by, you improved . . . some . . . but with every session, I slowly realized something. It wasn’t through our lessons, but through our conversations that I saw it. You would start to tell me stories from your past, stories about your mother, but just as you would start, you’d fall silent. You’d change the subject, even though I knew what had happened. I’ve experienced it, too. It’s the moment you realize you’ve lost something . . . forever.”

Landon’s mouth went dry and a lump formed in his throat. He fought to maintain his composure, but water welled up in his eyes. His world was crashing in around him, and he had no way of stopping it.

“I don’t think anyone had the faintest idea how much you were affected by your apocratusis. In hindsight, it seems obvious. Everyone’s apocratusis is tied to a moment of increased emotion, but few are as violent and tragic as yours. It makes sense that an event like that would block you off. Anger and frustration were strong enough feelings to break through the barriers your pain and guilt had built around your abilities. You needed closure, a chance to confront those feelings and free yourself