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Being stared at by someone like Thena was profoundly unsettling.
Those hollow eyes felt as if they were trying to pull in another's soul to fill the void within.
She yearned for life—
and yet was indifferent to it.
Her own. Or anyone else's.
Standing before her, Henry felt like an insect hopping in front of a bullfrog. At any moment, a tongue could snap out—and he would simply cease to exist.
The sensation was disturbingly vivid.
After finishing attaching the two earpiece sensors, Henry instinctively stepped back several paces, almost as if retreating from danger.
If it came to a fight, he didn't believe he would lose—not even one against three combat-oriented Eternals.
But experience radiated differently than raw power.
The sheer battlefield aura Thena carried—unrestrained, ancient, honed over millennia—pressed down on him in a way he wasn't accustomed to. For a brief moment, he felt intimidated before any conflict even began.
That realization forced a quiet moment of self-reflection.
No wonder these two had chosen isolation.
It wasn't only to ease Thena's burden.
It was to protect others from it.
If even he found it difficult to withstand her presence face-to-face, how could ordinary humans endure it?
He set the thought aside.
Now he needed to focus.
---
The tiger translator, of course, could not interpret Thena's brainwaves into language. That wasn't the goal.
Henry was listening to the raw, high-frequency transcribed output—the indirect signal patterns.
Brainwaves couldn't be observed directly. They required instrumentation.
At first, Gilgamesh didn't understand what Henry was doing. From his perspective, the Kryptonian simply placed the devices and then stood there, listening to something invisible.
He was about to speak when Kingo quickly pressed a finger to his lips and gestured toward his ear.
"Listen," Kingo whispered. "High frequency."
Gilgamesh focused.
Now he heard it—a faint, chaotic, piercing tone in a register most humans couldn't perceive.
---
After a short period, Henry began guiding gently:
"Alright. Please adjust into a posture you find comfortable. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice.
"Recall the happiest experience you can remember."
"..."
"Don't say it aloud. Just think it. If none exists, then let me know."
"…Understood."
"Now recall a moment of triumph. Perhaps after a battle victory. Or after drinking every man under the table."
…
"Oh. That emotion is strong. Good.
"Now recall your sweetest memory. Embracing a lover. Skin against skin."
"I have no such memory," Thena said flatly.
"Ah. Understood. Moving on.
"Recall something that made you angry."
A spike.
"Alright, that's enough. I won't ask who provoked that."
Henry quickly adjusted before inviting physical retaliation.
"Now calm yourself.
"Imagine lying in a vast grassland. The grass supports your body, separating you from the soil—but you can still smell the earth.
"The sky is blue. The clouds are white.
"The sun is warm—not harsh. Everything is peaceful.
"When you feel calm, open your eyes."
---
What Henry didn't notice immediately was that Kingo, Gilgamesh—even Karan Patel—had unconsciously followed along.
They were breathing slower.
Their heartbeats had synchronized with Henry's voice.
At first, Henry matched their rhythm.
But gradually, the rhythm shifted.
Their pulses began matching his cadence.
It was close to hypnosis.
Fortunately, Henry had no intention of exploiting that state.
Three Eternals falling under influence would have been catastrophic.
---
Once awareness returned fully, Kingo immediately asked,
"Well?"
"Give me a moment," Henry said. "I have a question."
He addressed Thena directly.
"Thena—during the guided recall, did unrelated memories intrude? Images you did not intentionally summon?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"I believe I understand."
Gilgamesh leaned forward.
"What do you mean?"
"Sit down," Henry said calmly.
He pulled out a sketchpad and pencil from his bag.
---
"At first, Kingo told me Mahd Wy'ry results from accumulated centuries of memory and knowledge overwhelming the brain."
He began writing across the page—line after line—until it became densely packed and nearly illegible.
"According to that explanation, the mind is overloaded."
He held up the page, filled edge to edge with text.
"But Thena's case doesn't resemble overload."
He picked up an eraser.
"If I want to keep writing on this page, what do I do?"
Gilgamesh answered immediately.
"Erase the old writing."
"Correct."
Henry erased hastily—not thoroughly—leaving faint traces beneath.
Then he wrote again over the partially erased page, leaving gaps, overlaps, ghost impressions.
He turned the page toward them.
"This is closer to Thena's condition."
The Eternals studied it.
Gilgamesh spoke carefully.
"You're suggesting… there are memories that aren't hers interfering with her own?"
Henry did not correct the wording.
Not hers… or not from this life?
Instead, he asked gently,
"Thena. The intrusive fragments—do you recognize their content?"
She answered slowly.
"No.
"They appear to take place in the Centauri system. Not on Earth.
"Our companions are present—but the one leaving these memories… appears to be me."
Silence fell.
This was not cognitive overload.
It was residual imprint.
Layered existence.
And if Henry's suspicion was correct—
This was not madness.
It was a system fault in something far older than Thena herself
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