The corridors of Nightsaint Hospital seemed endless.
For Noah, every step echoed against the sterile floor like a distant sentence being carried out.
The smell was unmistakable.
Disinfectant.
Alcohol.
Hospitals.
The scent people associated with recovery.
Tonight, it smelled more like an ending.
Noah walked slowly through the hallway.
His green eyes, usually bright with curiosity, were dull tonight.
Heavy.
Burdened by an anxiety he was struggling to keep under control.
He reached the consultation room and pushed the door open.
A man in his fifties sat in the chair opposite the doctor’s desk.
“Ah, Noah.
Took you long enough.”
His father’s voice sounded surprisingly normal.
Steady.
Almost cheerful.
Relief washed through Noah instantly.
‘Oof.
He looks fine.’
His shoulders loosened.
At least he wasn’t lying in a hospital bed connected to machines.
“Dad, sorry.
Traffic was a nightmare.
Roadblocks, accidents…
the whole city was a mess.”
“Roadblocks?” his father repeated with a raised eyebrow.
“Long story.”
Noah pulled up a chair.
“But what about you?
You’re okay, right?
Why did you ask me to come here?”
His father waved a dismissive hand.
“Nothing serious.
The doctor just wants a family member to sign a few documents.”
Something about the answer felt wrong.
Too casual.
Too rehearsed.
“What kind of documents?”
“Oh, they need me to designate a trusted contact.”
His father smiled.
“So naturally I thought of you.”
A trusted contact.
The words struck Noah immediately.
His eyes drifted toward the sign beside the office door.
Oncology Department.
His stomach tightened.
A trusted contact.
Oncology.
Chemotherapy?
“Dad…”
The realization hit him all at once.
“Don’t tell me…”
He didn’t need to finish.
The look in his father’s eyes was enough.
The blood seemed to drain from Noah’s body.
The office door opened.
A doctor entered and sat behind the desk.
An older man.
Gray hair.
Tired eyes.
He placed a folder on the table with a sharp clap.
“The biopsy and scan results are conclusive, Mr.
Ainsworth.”
His voice was calm.
Professional.
Detached.
“It is an advanced carcinoma, possibly aggravated by residual radiation exposure linked to the holes.”
He paused briefly.
“At present, it is incurable.”
The words landed like a hammer.
“Standard treatments may delay progression by several months at best.”
Noah felt his legs weaken.
The doctor had just confirmed his worst fear.
This can’t be happening.
Medicine couldn’t simply give up.
Not now.
Not like this.
Yet beside him, his father remained perfectly calm.
Sitting upright.
Hands resting on his knees.
Unmoved.
‘How can he stay so calm?’
‘We’re talking about cancer.’
‘A fucking cancer.’
“I need to call Mom.”
The words came out automatically.
“We’ll find another option.
Clinical trials.
Specialists.
Private hospitals.
Healing Ascendants”
The doctor quietly excused himself.
The door closed.
Leaving father and son alone with the verdict.
“Wait.”
His father’s voice cut through the panic.
“Don’t scare your mother for no reason.”
Noah stared at him.
“What do you mean for no reason?”
“She’s not young anymore, Noah.”
“Please stop.”
His voice cracked.
“This isn’t the time for jokes.”
The humor vanished from the older man’s face.
Instantly.
What remained was the same authority Noah had known his entire life.
Cold.
Firm.
Unshakable.
“I’m serious.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“Don’t tell her.”
“Dad…”
“That’s an order.”
Noah froze.
“But what if something happens?
What if you…”
“Oh, come on.”
His father rolled his eyes.
“Stop burying me before I’m dead, you little brat.”
A faint grin appeared.
“Do I look like a man who’s about to drop tomorrow?”
The smile faded.
“You know how doctors are.
They always prepare for the worst.”
“But the Ascendant healers…”
His father raised a hand.
The gesture was enough.
Noah stopped talking.
A sad smile crossed the older man’s face.
“You know as well as I do that healers can’t fix cases like mine.”
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
The distant hum of the air conditioning became the only sound in the room.
Then his father slowly stood up.
The movement required more effort than Noah remembered.
A detail that hurt far more than any diagnosis.
He placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder.
“Come on.”
A gentle squeeze.
“Show a little backbone.”
His voice softened.
“I’ll tell your mother myself when I’m ready.”
His eyes locked onto Noah’s.
“Until then, keep this to yourself.”
Noah clenched his fists.
Part of him wanted to refuse.
To argue.
To fight.
But the determination in his father’s gaze never wavered.
The same gaze that had carried their family through every hardship.
The same gaze that had always made Noah listen.
“I promise.”
The words felt heavy.
His father smiled faintly.
“That’s better.”
He sat back down.
Then laughed quietly.
“Don’t make that face.”
His voice carried a surprising warmth.
“Everybody dies someday.”
A shrug.
“Maybe my turn just came a little earlier than expected.”
Noah lowered his head.
His father continued.
“I’ve lived a good life.”
A pause.
“A beautiful one.”
His expression softened.
“I have no regrets.”
Then he pointed toward the door.
“So stop worrying so much.”
“Go home.”
“Keep living your life.”
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Toward the city beyond.
“And besides…”
A small smile appeared.
“In this world, nothing is immutable.”
The words settled deep inside Noah’s mind.
Nothing is immutable.
A simple sentence.
Yet it felt like a challenge.
Like a law waiting to be broken.
“Okay, Dad.”
That evening, Noah returned to his apartment.
The place was modest.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing luxurious.
Just enough space for one man and his obsessions.
One room had long ago stopped functioning as a guest bedroom.
It had become a laboratory.
Whiteboards covered in equations.
Shelves packed with chemicals.
Stacks of research papers.
Glassware.
Instruments.
Chaos organized according to Noah’s personal logic.
He collapsed onto the couch with a can of soda.
After taking a long drink, he sighed.
“What a horrible day.”
The university gossip.
The terrorist attack.
The diagnosis.
One disaster after another.
His father’s words echoed through his mind.
Keep living normally.
Noah laughed bitterly.
“How exactly am I supposed to do that?”
His gaze wandered across the room.
Eventually it landed on a whiteboard covered in formulas.
He stared at it.
Then an idea appeared.
A dangerous one.
‘What if…’
Slowly, he stood up.
His eyes sharpened.
The exhaustion vanished.
He grabbed a marker.
And began writing.
Rapidly.
Almost violently.
“As if I’m going to let some stupid cancer take you away.”
Equations filled the board.
Then another.
Then another.
He opened databases.
Medical journals.
Research archives.
He read everything.
Conventional treatments.
Experimental therapies.
Failed theories.
Absurd theories.
Even ideas most scientists would immediately dismiss.
Because they lived in a world where people survived falls from the sky.
A world where fire obeyed human will.
Nothing is immutable.
Maybe the cure doesn’t exist because nobody has looked far enough.
His marker moved faster.
Besides…
Most researchers weren’t as smart as he was.
Days passed.
Then more days.
Eventually Noah disappeared from ordinary life altogether.
He locked himself inside his laboratory.
The walls vanished beneath layers of calculations.
Research notes accumulated in unstable piles.
Dirty mugs gathered beside microscopes.
Day and night lost all meaning.
His dark green eyes became bloodshot from exhaustion.
Yet he kept going.
Test.
Fail.
Repeat.
Rows of vials stood beneath the laboratory lights like silent witnesses.
Another failure.
Noah stared at the results.
Then shook his head.
“Not good enough.”
He reached for another notebook.
“There is no such thing as an unsolvable problem.”
More calculations.
More experiments.
More failures.
Entire pages were crossed out.
Torn apart.
Thrown away.
The deeper he dug, the more resistance he encountered.
Traditional medicine refused to provide an answer.
Every path ended at another wall.
Inside the oppressive silence of the laboratory, interrupted only by the bubbling of chemical equipment, Noah eventually found himself muttering through clenched teeth.
“Damn it…”
His pen snapped.
“Why is this so difficult?”
But he kept going.
Because stopping meant accepting reality.
And Noah Ainsworth had never been particularly good at accepting reality.
Three weeks passed.
He barely noticed.
Until a phone call finally shattered his isolation.