The therapist playbook

HER GIFTS

The sky above was a blanket of grey, the dust clouds from the previous night’s devastation still hanging in the air. Salem stood at the edge of what was once a lively settlement, now rer evidence might have been left had long been scattered to the sands.

He bent down, sifting through the ashes, hoping to find something—anything—that might point to who was responsible. His fingers traced the outlines of broken glass, blackened wood, and scraps of metal. The effort felt futile. With a sigh, he rose to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Nothing. Not a damn thing," Salem muttered under his breath. His voice barely reached above the soft whistle of the wind.duced to debris and the charred remains of people’s lives. The smell of smoke lingered, sharp and suffocating, a reminder of the brutality that had occurred here. He scanned the ground again, noting how the desert winds had nearly erased the trails left by the attackers' tires. Whateve

Behind him, Imaru approached, his face etched with concern. "Salem," he called out.

Salem turned, the grim look on his face meeting Imaru’s troubled expression. "Anything from the wounded?" he asked, his voice heavy.

Imaru shook his head. "They're being treated, but... most are in bad shape. Many won't make it through the night." His voice faltered as he glanced at the survivors, some lying under makeshift tents, their bodies motionless except for faint breathing. "Sir, I—"

Before he could finish, a small voice interrupted him. "Sir, she says she has something for you."

Imaru gestured behind him, revealing a little girl hiding shyly behind his legs. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old, her face streaked with dirt and her hands clutching a tattered doll.

Salem knelt down, his eyes softening as he reached out to her. "Come here, little one," he said gently, holding out his hand.

The girl hesitated but eventually took his hand, allowing him to pull her closer. He wiped the dust from her chin with his thumb, smiling warmly. "What’s your name?" he asked.

"Astrid," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Salem’s smile widened as he repeated her name softly. "Astrid. That’s a beautiful name. Where are your parents?"

Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she kicked at the dirt with her bare foot. "Mama is with the doctors. She got hurt... bad." She paused, her voice quivering. "Daddy... the last time I saw him, he was fighting when the strange people came."

Salem’s expression darkened. "The strange people... did you see them, Astrid?"

The little girl nodded slowly, then reached into the small pouch she had tied to her waist. From it, she pulled out a small, tattered piece of cloth and held it up to Salem. "My daddy told me to give this to you. He said it was important, but I couldn’t find the others, so I came to you."

Salem took the cloth from her tiny hand and examined it closely. His brow furrowed as he noticed a strange insignia embroidered on the fabric, one he didn’t immediately recognize. "Where did your father get this?" he asked, his tone now more serious.

Astrid pointed towards the horizon. "From one of the strange people. He... he said it would help you stop them."

Salem exchanged a glance with Imaru, who was already narrowing his eyes. He could sense the weight of what the child was saying. "Thank you, Astrid," Salem said quietly, rising to his feet. He called over a nearby officer, instructing them to take Astrid back to her mother.

"Make sure she’s taken care of," Salem added as the officer led Astrid away.

Turning to Imaru, he handed him the cloth. "This could be a lead. I want you to reach out to the Olfa clan. Their abilities with scent-tracking might be able to make sense of this."

Imaru nodded but paused before leaving. "Sir, before I go, I think you should know... the girl came back. She said there’s something else she needs to give you."

Salem frowned. "More pieces of cloth?"

Imaru shook his head. "No, sir. She said she wants to show you something."

Intrigued, Salem followed Imaru back to where Astrid was waiting, her wide eyes looking up at him with a mix of fear and determination. As he knelt before her again, she placed her small hands on his cheeks and leaned her forehead against his. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, as if a veil was being lifted from his mind, images began to flood Salem's vision.

The scene played out before his eyes—chaos, fire, and terror. He could see the strange people attacking, their faces obscured by masks. He saw Astrid’s father fighting desperately, the insignia on the attackers' clothing catching his eye. He saw their leader, tall and menacing, giving orders in a language Salem didn’t recognize. And then, in a flash, he was back in the present, kneeling before Astrid.

Salem gasped, pulling away as the vision faded. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. "She... she showed me what happened," he whispered, his voice shaky.

Imaru's eyes widened. "What? How is that even possible? What did you see?"

"I don’t know how it’s possible, but I saw everything through her eyes. The attackers, the insignia... her father fighting..." Salem trailed off, still processing the information.

Imaru stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you think she’s... gifted?"

"I’ve never seen anything like it before," Salem replied, shaking his head. "But it’s possible. We need to find out more."

As Imaru turned to make contact with the Olfa clan, Salem called out, "Wait. Bring her mother to me. I need to speak with her. If Astrid is gifted, her mother might know something."

While Imaru left, Salem knelt by the fire, staring at the piece of cloth in his hand. There was something strange about all of this—something deeper. He had heard of people with extraordinary abilities, but a child who could transfer her memories? A new realisation to Salem, and he was going to find out more about it.

The sun hung low over the desert horizon as Imaru stood in the shade of the outpost's crumbling walls, surveying his team. Eight men, selected for their loyalty and skill, stood ready, their faces hardened by years of experience. The journey ahead was long, but not perilous, thanks to Salem’s good relations with the Olfa clan to the south. Imaru had made trips like this before, though never under such tense circumstances.

"We leave at dawn," Imaru announced, his voice steady but firm. "Make sure you’re all prepared—this isn’t a short journey, but it’s one we need to make quickly and without incident."

As the men nodded and dispersed to gather supplies, Imaru couldn’t help but feel the weight of the task. He had no doubts about Salem’s confidence in him, but the importance of the mission gnawed at him. The Olfa clan was reclusive, only coming into contact with the outside world when absolutely necessary. Their abilities were invaluable, but their distance from modern technology meant they didn’t involve themselves in worldly conflicts unless directly affected.

Meanwhile, Salem walked through the medical ward, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and the low hum of machines. His boots echoed softly on the cold, hard floor as he approached Astrid’s mother’s room. He had seen the extent of the raid’s damage, but it was here in the aftermath, amidst the wounded, that the true cost was felt.

As he entered, the woman turned towards him with a weak but grateful smile. Bandages wrapped around her arms and torso, but her eyes remained sharp, filled with the kind of resilience Salem had come to admire in survivors like her.

"Salem," she greeted him, her voice soft but steady. "I wasn’t sure I’d see you again so soon."

He took a seat beside her bed, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. "How are you holding up?"

She chuckled softly, though it was strained. "Better, thanks to your people. I owe you more than I can express."

Salem waved a hand dismissively. "You owe me nothing. I’m just doing my duty. But there’s something I need to talk to you about... it’s about your daughter."

Astrid’s mother’s smile widened slightly at the mention of her child. "My baby girl... she’s safe, isn’t she?"

"She is," Salem reassured her. "But she’s more than just safe. She showed me something, something I’ve never experienced before."

The woman’s expression shifted to one of knowing sadness. "Yes, we were shocked when we first realised what she could do. But... Astrid isn’t the first in our family to possess this gift." She glanced towards the door where Astrid stood, watching silently from the shadows. "Her sister, Sigrid, was like her. Maybe even more gifted."

Salem’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Her sister?"

The woman’s gaze darkened as memories flooded back. "Sigrid... we lost her during an attack when we were leaving our village. There was a man—" Her voice trembled. "—a cruel man, hunting those like Astrid and Sigrid, those gifted among the gifted. He found us. Sigrid didn’t survive."

Salem leaned forward, his expression serious. "And Astrid? Is she in danger because of this gift?"

The woman nodded slowly. "That’s why we kept her abilities a secret. We didn’t want to lose her too. But it’s not something we can hide forever. Not now, after what’s happened."

"What exactly is she?" Salem asked, genuinely curious now.

"A memoire," her mother replied, her voice steady. "She doesn’t cast dreams like the dreamers you’ve heard of. Instead, she shares memories. She can experience others' memories or share her own, through simple touch."

Salem leaned back, absorbing the information. A memoire. It was a rare gift, even among the gifted. The implications of such an ability were vast—and dangerous in the wrong hands.

Astrid, still watching quietly from the doorway, shifted nervously, clutching the fabric of her dress.

Her mother continued, her voice softer now. "We don’t know the full extent of her powers. We never had the chance to train her, not properly. But... I believe you can help her. You’ve always done right by us, Salem. Will you train her? Help her control her gift, so she can use it for good?"

Salem was silent for a moment, contemplating the weight of the request. "I’ll do what I can," he said finally. "But I can’t promise I’ll be able to bring out the full extent of her abilities. What she has... it’s beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with before."

Her mother smiled weakly. "I trust you, Salem. You’ve already done more than we could ever repay."

Astrid moved closer now, standing by her mother’s bedside, her eyes wide and innocent but tinged with a strange wisdom beyond her years.

As Salem left the ward, his mind raced with the new information. A memoire... the implications were staggering. He had heard tales of dreamers and seers, but nothing quite like this. Astrid’s gift, if honed, could be a powerful tool—or a devastating weapon.

Meanwhile, Imaru’s team gathered near the outpost's entrance, the desert jeep parked and loaded with supplies. The men checked their weapons, adjusted their gear, and made final preparations.

"Why isn’t Salem seeing us off?" one of the younger men asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Imaru looked up from securing his pack, a stern expression on his face. "Salem has a lot to handle right now. He’s trusted us with this task, and he believes in our ability to complete it. Focus on the mission."

The younger man nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly as he returned to his tasks. The atmosphere among the team was tense, but focused. They all knew the importance of their mission. The Olfa clan’s ability to track by scent was unmatched, and in a situation like this, they were Salem’s best hope of finding the culprits behind the attack.

"Two squads," Imaru barked, addressing the men. "Four to a squad. Stay sharp, and keep communication tight. We’ll need to move quickly once we’re in Olfa territory."

The men nodded in unison, their expressions hardening with resolve.

As they climbed into the jeep, the sun beginning to set over the desert dunes, Imaru cast one last glance back at the outpost. He knew the journey ahead would be long, but he also knew that failure wasn’t an option. Salem was counting on them.