Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 57

Sylvara was still grappling with the intricacies of mental-energy treatment. The vastness of the Interstellar Era felt like a chasm separating her from the zombie-infested world she had once known. With a hint of confusion in her voice, she queried, “But why can’t a lower-level healer connect with a higher-level one? Logically, shouldn’t it be easier for someone with lesser energy to merge with someone more powerful? I mean, if lower levels are more compatible, doesn’t that mean they should blend seamlessly?”

Aslan’s expression shifted, a mixture of disbelief and concern etching deeper lines across his forehead. “Sweetheart, I’m beginning to think you either wielded some royal privilege or were ushered in by a personal recommendation from His Highness Agares. There’s no way you sat for the entrance exam for the Fifth Military Academy.”

Sylvara met his gaze without a hint of embarrassment or remorse. Her words were stark, as if she were slicing through the air with a sharp blade. “I didn’t take the exam. I had no desire to attend a military academy in the first place. My aunt, convinced of my supposed ignorance, practically shoved me into this place.”

A wistful look crossed her face as she continued, “If things had gone differently, I would be on Kolar planet right now, nestled in my husband’s embrace, savoring the warmth of his arms.”

The sudden display of affection hung in the air, heavy and poignant.

Aslan felt a pang of longing in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to push aside the emotional weight of her words. “What you’re suggesting about lower levels merging with higher levels? That notion belongs to a time over three millennia ago.”

He paused, his voice taking on a more somber tone, “Three thousand years back, our ancestors journeyed to ancient Earth, bringing the remaining humans to the Abel Star System for intermarriage.”

Sylvara listened intently, her curiosity piqued. “What was it like back then?”

“Back then,” Aslan continued, “Earth humans possessed pure, stable mental energy. The distinction of high or low levels was irrelevant; they could merge effortlessly. But as time progressed, our people became overly reliant on technology. We began to manipulate gene fragments, engineering children with specific traits. This led to mutations in mental energy. The purity and stability we once knew vanished.”

His gaze turned serious. “Now, individuals with high mental-energy levels can only connect with others of similar caliber, while those at lower levels are confined to their own kind. If two individuals with mismatched levels attempt a merge during treatment, it can result in the death of at least one.”

Sylvara absorbed his words with a growing sense of dread. The implications were staggering. Her bargain-bin husband must possess an extraordinarily high mental-energy level—so high that no one could match it.

“Then, if someone has never had their mental energy sorted or their genetic breakdown addressed since birth…” she began.

Before she could finish, Aslan interrupted, one arm wrapped around a lemon tree, the other dramatically gesturing as he exclaimed, “If what you’re describing is accurate, I can only express my admiration for this individual. To have never had their mental energy sorted, never had their genetic issues repaired—”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know the ancient Earth fairy tale ‘The Little Mermaid’?”

Sylvara nodded, intrigued. “Yes, what does that story have to do with this?”

Aslan’s eyes sparkled with intensity. “Everything. The person you’re describing, growing up without any mental-energy treatment, is like the little mermaid trying to walk on land. Beneath that seemingly powerful exterior, each step feels like broken bones scraping against sharp blades.”

A gasp escaped Sylvara’s lips, a hiss of pain that she couldn’t suppress.

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