Arnold came to a dead stop.
He was standing right in front of the ICU doors. Through the reinforced glass, he could see Miyara. She was standing perfectly still beside Ayelen's bed, her silhouette slumped with a heavy, silent grief. To anyone else, the scene looked normal ,a sister watching over her sick brother. But a cold shiver crawled up Arnold's spine.
His mind flashed back to the Shen Kao dimension. The image was burned into his retinas: Ayelen's body, pale and stiff. Lifeless. Cold.
Arnold's expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he turned toward Flauge, who stood in the dim hallway like a shadow.
"What is happening?" Arnold asked. His voice was low, vibrating with a dangerous edge.
Flauge remained draped in his usual, unsettling calm. "What you saw," he began, his eyes fixed on the distance, "was not real."
Arnold's frown deepened. "Then why show it to me?"
"It was an illusion. A projection of a possible outcome," Flauge explained. "Nothing more, and nothing less."
Arnold stayed silent, his heart still hammering against his ribs. He tried to process the weight of the nightmare he had just stepped out of, wondering if the "possibility" was a warning or a threat.
After a few heavy seconds, Flauge spoke again. "You accepted my offer. You gave your word." He paused, the air around him thickening. "That means you will come with me. I will train you to become what you were meant to be."
Arnold looked at him, his thoughts immediately darting back to the house. "And my family? What happens to them?"
Flauge's gaze didn't soften. He didn't offer a comforting lie.
Arnold immediately shook his head, his posture turning rigid. "No. That's not possible. I can train with you, but I'm not leaving them. I'll come home every day."
Flauge replied in that same, hauntingly level tone. "If you stay connected to them, Arnold... they will be in danger. Your presence is the beacon that brings the storm."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Arnold didn't like that answer. He didn't like it at all.
Later that evening, the atmosphere at home was thick with an unspoken dread. Arnold sat in the living room with his parents. Mr. Lor and Mrs. Reanie sat side by side, their faces etched with the weariness of the past few days. They listened intently as Arnold explained the impossible things he had seen. He told them about Flauge, the twisted creatures, and the battle that had taken place in a world they couldn't see.
They didn't interrupt. They didn't tell him he was dreaming. They just listened, their eyes reflecting the flickering light of the room.
Suddenly, a sharp ringtone cut through the air.
Miyara picked up the phone. As she listened, the color drained from her face, leaving her ghost-white. Her hands began to tremble so violently she almost dropped the device.
"What?" she whispered. Her voice shook with a sudden, raw terror.
Everyone froze, their eyes locked on her. She slowly lowered the phone, her breathing coming in jagged gasps. Tears welled up and spilled over, tracking through the dust on her cheeks.
"The doctor said..." She choked on the words, a sob catching in her throat.
"Say it, Miyara," Mr. Lor commanded, his voice tight with a father's fear.
"Ayelen has cancer," she managed to gasp out. "Stage 4."
The world seemed to stop spinning. The clock on the wall kept ticking, but for the family, time had frozen. Mrs. Reanie let out a muffled cry and covered her mouth with both hands. Arnold felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Mr. Lor stood perfectly still, his eyes wide and vacant, unable to process the death sentence that had just been handed to his son.
Without wasting a single second, they rushed back to the hospital. The sterile smell of bleach and medicine felt more aggressive than before.
"Doctor, what is happening?" Arnold demanded the moment they found him in the hallway. "How did this happen so fast?"
The doctor looked down at his clipboard, his expression unreadable. "We are not completely sure. But according to the scans, it seems the cancer developed and reached this stage in just three to four days."
"That's impossible!" Arnold barked, stepping into the doctor's personal space. "He was completely fine a week ago! He was healthy!"
The doctor didn't respond to the outburst. He simply looked away, his silence feeling like a wall.
Soon, the whole family entered Ayelen's room. It was quiet the kind of silence that feels heavy, like it's pressing against your eardrums. Ayelen looked up at them from the bed. He looked confused, his eyes darting from face to face, searching for an explanation for the grief he saw there.
No one spoke. The air was filled with the things they couldn't bring themselves to say. They all understood the unspoken truth: they were losing him.
Miyara was the first to break. A jagged sob escaped her, and she collapsed into a chair. Mrs. Reanie followed, clutching her daughter as they wept together.
Ayelen watched them, his lip trembling. "...Why are you all crying?"
No one could find the breath to answer. Mr. Lor couldn't take it anymore. When a nurse tapped him on the shoulder, saying the doctor wanted a word, he left the room without looking back.
Outside in the quiet corridor, the doctor spoke in a low, conspiratorial whisper. "There is something we need to discuss, Mr. Lor."
As the doctor spoke, Lor's face underwent a horrifying transformation. It went from confusion to a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.
"If the situation gets worse," the doctor continued, his voice devoid of any empathy, "and if Ayelen doesn't survive... we would like to take his body for research purposes."
Silence fell between them. Lor's hands tightened into white-knuckled fists.
"There is one condition," the doctor added, leaning in closer. "You cannot tell anyone. Not your wife, not your children. No one."
Mr. Lor looked at him in total disbelief. His own son's life was being bargained for before he was even gone. "And in return?"
The doctor placed a single sheet of paper on a nearby table. "We will give you 10,000 Jean."
Lor didn't respond. At first, his soul screamed at him to refuse, to strike the man across the face for even suggesting such a thing. But then, he thought about his debt. He thought about his empty pockets, the hospital bills, and the sheer helplessness of their lives.
Slowly, painfully, he nodded. "...I accept."
Days passed, and a shadow fell over Mr. Lor. He changed. He became a ghost in his own home, barely speaking and never smiling. He looked as if he were carrying the weight of the entire world on his sagging shoulders.
Inside the hospital room, the air felt like lead. Arnold sat beside Ayelen one afternoon, watching him closely. "Do you feel anything unusual today?" Arnold asked softly. "A headache? Any weakness? Is your hair falling out?"
Ayelen shook his head slowly. "No... nothing. I feel fine, Arnold. Just tired of being here."
Arnold's eyes narrowed. He looked at his brother's healthy complexion. Something was wrong. This didn't look like Stage 4.
The next day, the room was crowded. Relatives and friends arrived in shifts, bringing colorful flowers that seemed to mock the grim atmosphere. They spoke in hushed, practiced tones, offering "strength" that felt hollow. Nyla was there too, sitting quietly in the corner, her eyes red-from crying.
Everyone said the same things.
"Ayelen is such a good boy."
"He's so smart."
"He really didn't deserve this."
One by one, they hugged him. Some cried openly against his shoulder. Ayelen smiled weakly at them, playing the part of the dying boy, but deep inside, he could see it in their eyes. He understood exactly what they thought was happening.
Later that evening, Arnold returned to the hospital alone. He walked straight into the doctor's office, bypassing the nurse.
"Are the reports correct?" Arnold asked, his voice flat. "Or was there a mistake in the lab?"
The doctor sighed and pulled up the digital files again. "They are correct, Arnold. The cellular growth is aggressive."
Arnold didn't move. He stood like a statue. "Then why is he not showing a single symptom? No pain? No weight loss? Nothing?"
The doctor hesitated. For a split second, a flash of discomfort crossed his face. He adjusted his glasses and straightened his coat, trying to regain his composure. "I am a doctor," he said firmly, his voice rising. "I have twenty years of experience. Do not question my diagnosis based on what you see on the surface."
Arnold didn't argue. He just stared at the man for a long moment before turning and walking away.
Outside the hospital, the night air was cold. A figure stepped out from the shadows of a pillar. It was Flauge.
"You look worried," Flauge said, his voice trailing on the wind. "Need help?"
Arnold didn't reply. He was too tired for riddles.
Flauge reached into his coat and produced a small, metallic device a sensor. "Take this." He pressed it into Arnold's hand. "When the time comes... when you finally need me... activate it."
Before Arnold could even open his mouth to ask what it was for, Flauge was gone.
Planet Arkon
Light-years away, in a place of jagged obsidian mountains and purple skies, a group of Nylomites stood trembling in front of a dark, towering figure. The presence of the leader was unstable, radiating a heat that made the very air warp and ripple.
"Should we invade Earth now?" one of the creatures hissed, its many eyes twitching. "Or should we wait for the signal?"
The dark figure remained motionless for a long time. When it finally spoke, the sound was like grinding tectonic plates.
"If that boy dies..." The figure paused, a terrifying energy swirling around its fist. "...we lose everything."
Silence filled the alien hall.
"Wait. Let the others continue their work on the inside."
The plan was already moving, weaving through the lives of the unsuspecting family. And no one—not even Arnold could see the trap until it was too late.
• CHAPTER 9 ENDS •