The door groaned open, and Elias stepped in. He looked less like a man and more like a collection of jagged edges. His eyes were flat, a sure sign of "soul loss"—the kind that happens when the world demands more than you have to give.

The neon hum of the clinic’s "Dynamic Energetic Healing" sign flickered, casting long, rhythmic shadows across the waiting room. Inside, Elara sat cross-legged, the air around her vibrating with the residue of a dozen fractured spirits. She wasn’t a doctor in the traditional sense; she was a weaver of the unseen.

"That's not weight," Elara corrected with a tired but bright smile. "That’s presence. Welcome back."

Elias gasped. The "glass wall" didn't just crack; it dissolved. For the first time in years, the color returned to his face, not as a flush of heat, but as a steady, quiet glow. "It’s heavy," he whispered, clutching his chest.

Elara nodded, her hands already moving through the air, tracing the jagged contours of his energy field. "We aren't going to talk today, Elias. We’re going to find what you left behind."

She began the process of into their session. The room didn’t change, but the atmosphere thickened. Elara closed her eyes, her breathing syncing with a drumbeat that seemed to rise from the floorboards. In her mind’s eye, she wasn't in a sterile office; she was standing on the edge of a vast, frozen tundra—Elias's internal landscape.

"I’ve tried the talking," Elias rasped. "I’ve tried the pills. I still feel like I’m standing behind a glass wall."