Ren woke to the sound of chains. Not metaphorical ones. Real, metallic, echoing ones.
He groaned. His wrists were cuffed to the arms of a chair. Again.
"Okay," he muttered, "this is officially above my pay grade."
The room was larger than his cell, lit by torches that flickered along stone walls carved with runes. At the center stood Varion, perfectly at ease, holding a long blade as if it were a prop. Arden lingered behind him, posture crisp and silent.
"Morning, Doctor," Varion said smoothly. "I trust you slept well?"
Ren tilted his head. "If you ignore the screaming, the damp, and the fact that someone tied me up again, sure. Five stars."
Varion's lips twitched. "You talk too much for a healer."
"That's kind of how therapy works," Ren said. "Talking. Preferably with both parties conscious."
Varion stepped closer. "Then talk. Heal me."
Ren blinked. "Right now?"
"Why not?" Varion said. "You said you heal pain. I have plenty."
Ren forced a professional tone. "Okay, let's start simple. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your anger—"
The sword hit the wall beside his head with a clang.
"Ten," Varion said. "At least ten."
Ren closed his eyes. "...Noted."
Arden spoke up, voice calm. "Your Majesty, the doctor can't focus with you threatening him."
"I'm motivating him," Varion said.
"That's not motivation," Ren said weakly. "That's attempted murder with extra steps."
Varion ignored him. "You said anger is a human defense. I'm not human. Explain that."
Ren swallowed, trying to think past the adrenaline. "Then maybe it's a demonic defense. You lash out before you can be hurt."
Varion's gaze sharpened. "And what makes you think I can be hurt?"
Ren gave him a tired look. "Because you just asked that."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut the air.
Arden's expression didn't change, but his shoulders stiffened like someone preparing to step between them.
Varion's hand twitched once then he turned, the blade vanishing in a burst of smoke. "Fine," he said, voice tight. "Keep talking."
Ren exhaled slowly. "Alright. Let's talk about control—"
"No," Varion interrupted. "You will teach me control."
Ren blinked. "Uh… therapy doesn't really work like martial arts—"
A flick of Varion's wrist, and Ren's chair snapped upright magically, forcing him to attention. "Lesson one," Varion said. "Survive."
"Great," Ren said through his teeth. "Love the syllabus."
For the next hour, Varion "tested" him.
Each test involved something increasingly absurd.
First, fireballs. Then, illusions of screaming humans. Then, a miniature earthquake that toppled half the furniture.
Ren, still strapped to the chair, mostly screamed, argued, and occasionally offered mental health advice mid-chaos.
"Okay. That's clearly repressed trauma— NO, don't throw that— fine! Burn the chair, that's healthy too!"
By the time it ended, the room was a mess of smoke and ash.Ren sat panting, hair singed, dignity evaporated.
Varion stood before him, unmarked and calm. "So, Healer," he said, "diagnose me."
Ren coughed out a lungful of smoke. "You're… impulsive, sadistic, emotionally stunted, possibly compensating for something—"
Varion's eyebrow lifted.
Ren raised a finger weakly. "—like pain! Compensating for pain! Which is fine! Everyone has coping mechanisms. Yours just happen to involve arson."
For a moment, the Demon King just stared at him.
Then, to Ren's horror, he laughed. Not kindly. But not cruelly either, just amused.
"You're ridiculous," Varion said. "I think I might keep you."
"Thanks," Ren wheezed. "I think I preferred the hitting."
Varion waved a hand. "Arden. Unchain him before I change my mind."
A few minutes later, Ren was back in his cell, soot-stained, trembling, and absolutely done with demon psychology.
Arden entered quietly, carrying a small towel and water.
Ren eyed him. "Do all your therapy sessions end in attempted homicide, or am I just special?"
Arden crouched, setting the bowl beside him. "You're still alive. That's impressive."
"Low bar," Ren muttered. "I think my heart filed for divorce."
Arden smiled faintly, an actual smile this time. "You're not what he expected."
"Yeah, well," Ren sighed, "neither is he."
Arden dabbed at the burn on his arm with surprising gentleness. "He doesn't trust anyone, Doctor. Not even me."
Ren tilted his head. "And yet you're still here."
"I gave him my loyalty," Arden said simply. "Even monsters need someone to hold the sword when their hands shake."
Ren blinked. "That's… poetic. Depressing, but poetic."
Arden chuckled softly. "You use words to fight. I use steel. Between us, maybe we'll keep him from destroying the world."
Ren rubbed his bruised wrists. "Between us, maybe I'll survive the week."
Hours later, Ren sat alone in his cell, scribbling on a scrap of parchment Arden had smuggled him.
Session 1 notes: Patient exhibits extreme paranoia, violent tendencies, and difficulty with authority figures (like gravity, physics, and basic sanity). Also refuses to admit he has feelings. Possible progress: he didn't kill me. Small victories.
He looked up at the flickering torchlight, sighed, and muttered to himself, "Congratulations, Ren. You're officially the most underpaid therapist in two worlds."
Outside the door, unseen, Arden leaned quietly against the wall, listening, a faint smile on his lips.And down the hall, in the throne room, Varion stared at the empty air and murmured, "Why does he talk to him so easily?"