12-12-2023, 12:59 AM
As Jensen stood amidst the crowd, their eager faces reminiscent of those he'd seen congregating after his time on stage back in the States, he felt an old, familiar energy coursing through him. The attention, the gratitude, the sheer need of the people around him – it was invigorating, yet overwhelming with emotion. In the past, he had always tried to deflect this adulation, to point it towards something greater than himself, but the allure of being someone's source of hope, of optimism, was undeniably powerful.
Now, for the first time since leaving America, Jensen felt that same warmth enveloping him, the same desperate desire for healing and hope in the eyes of those around him all the while fully aware that he could offer exactly what they needed. Ezvin was there, guiding him through the throng, but Jensen felt a strong urge to stay, to embrace each person, to heal every minor ailment, to be the bearer of relief they so clearly sought. This, he felt, was his true calling, the path he was meant to walk. How desperate he was to walk it.
His smile and nods, however, soon became insufficient as the crowd's requests grew more urgent. Pleas about loved ones in hospice care, rare genetic conditions, and other serious ailments bombarded him. Jensen's heart ached with the desire to help them all, to listen to each story and offer what he could to help. But the demands pulled him in a dozen directions, and his attempts to speak, to explain, were drowned out.
This was exactly what Ascendancy warned him about, and although he didn’t regret taking care of three injured people, he wished there was a way to do it more discreetly.
Abruptly, the crowd dispersed. Each became distracted by something on their phones, and they scattered to attend to it. Was it some breaking news story? He pulled his own from his pocket, discovering several messages that he’d missed, but his mind was too frazzled to decipher the meaning at the moment. Only that his identity as Iáson was compromised. It was one thing to risk his own welfare, but it was another to risk that.
He followed Aiden and his date toward the elevators, responding to the latter as he did. “You’re right. Thank you. My name is Jensen.” He realized they hadn’t been properly introduced. It was a small gesture of courtesy, a handshake offered in haste as they moved toward the exit. Despite the turmoil swirling within him, Jensen maintained his composure, his smile muted but sincere.
“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier,” he added, his politeness an anchor amid the storm.
Now, for the first time since leaving America, Jensen felt that same warmth enveloping him, the same desperate desire for healing and hope in the eyes of those around him all the while fully aware that he could offer exactly what they needed. Ezvin was there, guiding him through the throng, but Jensen felt a strong urge to stay, to embrace each person, to heal every minor ailment, to be the bearer of relief they so clearly sought. This, he felt, was his true calling, the path he was meant to walk. How desperate he was to walk it.
His smile and nods, however, soon became insufficient as the crowd's requests grew more urgent. Pleas about loved ones in hospice care, rare genetic conditions, and other serious ailments bombarded him. Jensen's heart ached with the desire to help them all, to listen to each story and offer what he could to help. But the demands pulled him in a dozen directions, and his attempts to speak, to explain, were drowned out.
This was exactly what Ascendancy warned him about, and although he didn’t regret taking care of three injured people, he wished there was a way to do it more discreetly.
Abruptly, the crowd dispersed. Each became distracted by something on their phones, and they scattered to attend to it. Was it some breaking news story? He pulled his own from his pocket, discovering several messages that he’d missed, but his mind was too frazzled to decipher the meaning at the moment. Only that his identity as Iáson was compromised. It was one thing to risk his own welfare, but it was another to risk that.
He followed Aiden and his date toward the elevators, responding to the latter as he did. “You’re right. Thank you. My name is Jensen.” He realized they hadn’t been properly introduced. It was a small gesture of courtesy, a handshake offered in haste as they moved toward the exit. Despite the turmoil swirling within him, Jensen maintained his composure, his smile muted but sincere.
“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier,” he added, his politeness an anchor amid the storm.