Therefore, considering the general state of his mood these days, his fatigue and apathy didn’t worry Harry. He was probably just acclimatizing. It would get better.
It had to.
* * *
Months passed. The feeling that he was put together wrong only increased, the vague longing turning into a full-blown ache. Something hurt deep inside him, twisting him into knots. His lack of appetite was impossible to hide now, and Harry couldn’t quite summon enough energy to pretend that he was fine. He wasn’t fine.
“I think I’m dying,” Harry said one day when Seyn asked why Harry looked so pale and sickly. Harry wondered if he had caught something on Earth and it was killing him slowly.
Seyn looked horrified to hear that, for some reason.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he said, smacking Harry on the head. “How can you just say it like you don’t care?”
Harry stared at him and realized with some surprise that he really didn’t. He didn’t care whether he lived or died. It was probably bad. Was it?
“I don’t even recognize you anymore!” Seyn said, jumping to his feet. “You used to be the most positive person I’ve ever known, always so nauseatingly optimistic about life, and now you’re—” He cut himself off, his green eyes narrowing. “Of course. Ksar must have fucked up when he restored your bond.”
Before Harry could tell him that he was wrong and the bond was perfectly functional, Seyn stormed out of Harry’s room.
Harry sighed and wondered whether he should go after him, but it would require too much energy, energy he could no longer summon.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the door opened again.
“Just look at him!” Seyn said. “It doesn’t even look like he’s moved from that couch since I left him in the morning! Can’t you see it’s not normal?”
Ksar followed him into the room with a decidedly unimpressed look on his face. Harry was somewhat surprised Seyn had found Ksar at all. Harry had barely seen Ksar lately. Ksar was always busy, which was hardly surprising, considering his countless duties.
“You shouldn’t have messed with his mind,” Seyn said. “You’re not a professional mind adept. No doubt you fucked it up and now he’s all weird and sickly!”
“I didn’t ‘fuck’ anything up, as you so eloquently put it,” Ksar said, but then he frowned, looking at Harry. “Harht?”
It took Harry a few moments to realize he was being asked something. “What?” he said belatedly.
“See?” Seyn said.
Ksar’s silver eyes narrowed. He studied Harry carefully.
“Borg’gorn, run a full medical scan on Prince Harht,” Ksar said.
“The scan is initiated,” the AI said.
Harry shrugged, feeling vaguely bothered that his opinion wasn’t even asked, but deep down, he knew it was probably a good idea. Something must be wrong with him. Lately he felt like he’d been... fading out of existence.
“Well?” Ksar said, eyeing Harry intently as Seyn paced the room.
The palace AI replied, “Would you like to hear the results now, Your Highness?”
“As soon as Seyn’ngh’veighli leaves.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Seyn walked over to Harry, sat next to him, and put an arm around his shoulders.
Harry tried not to cringe and shy away from the touch. Physical affection was uncharacteristic for Seyn—for their entire race—and yet recently Seyn had been touching him so often. It made Harry feel a little humiliated. He didn’t want anyone’s pity.
He didn’t want anything.
He wanted everyone to leave him alone.
Harry winced, trying to shake off the moodiness. Seyn was right: this was so unlike him. He wasn’t this moody, subdued person.
“You may proceed, Borg’gorn,” Seyn said.
“I apologize, Your Highness, but I cannot take orders from you. Only the Crown Prince has clearance to access medical records of the members of the Second Grand Clan besides the Queen and King-Consort.”
Sighing, Harry rubbed at his face. “Let Seyn stay, Ksar. Borg’gorn, go ahead, tell me what’s wrong with me.”
“With your permission, Prince Ksar?” Borg’gorn said.
Ksar shot Seyn a displeased look but nodded. “Go ahead.”
“There are no foreign viruses in the prince’s system. He is suffering from severe malnutrition and depression.”
“So I’m okay?” Harry interrupted the AI. He wasn’t all that fond of the intrusive nature of the AI’s scanners.
“I would not say so, Your Highness,” the AI said. “The malnutrition and depression are merely symptoms of the problem, not the problem itself.”
“What do you mean?” Ksar said.
The AI replied, his voice careful, “Judging by his brain activity and hormone levels, it appears Prince Harht’ngh’chaali’s condition stems from the fact that he is a throwback.”
Seyn stiffened against Harry.
Ksar’s brows furrowed. “Pardon?”
Harry frowned, confused. Of course he’d known he was a throwback, but it had always been a useless fact rather than something relevant.
It wasn’t well known that a small percentage of their race shared biological traits with the surl’kh’tu, their primitive ancestor that lived around a million years ago. The throwback gene first manifested after the same genetic experiments that caused telepathic mutations, but unlike telepathy, physiological changes could not be changed by bonding the person’s telepathic core, so everyone just pretended the problem didn’t exist. What being a throwback entailed wasn’t something discussed in polite company, and for a reason. Harry knew about throwbacks so much only because he was one.