Part One : Bad news
The air was too clean.
That artificial sterility—the sharp scent of alcohol wipes, disinfectant, and stale lemon air freshener—clung to everything. Light filtered through the windows in harsh, sterile strips, casting pale lines across the tiled floor. The hum of machines droned like white noise, steady and unfeeling. Time felt slower here, like even the clocks didn't want to move forward.
Somewhere outside, life continued: traffic, distant chatter, the normal world. But in this room, everything felt paused.
It was a hospital.
Dylan sat in a stiff plastic chair beside the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, a paper cup of cold coffee cradled between his hands. He stared at the floor like it owed him answers. The silence was only broken by the occasional beep from the monitor tracking the rhythm of a fading heartbeat.
His grandmother lay propped up by pillows, thinner than he remembered, skin pale against the white sheets. Still, her voice cut through the quiet like it always had.
"You look like hell."
Dylan glanced up, managing a half-smile."You always say that."
"Because you always do." She gave a dry cough, waving a frail hand. "So. How's college treating you, genius?"
He leaned back, exhaling."It's... a lot. First year's wild."
"Wild good or wild stupid?"
"Little of both." He scratched the back of his neck. "Had three roommates in one semester. Joined a climbing club. Nearly fell off a wall. Philosophy professor thinks he's a god. Lit professor wants us to feel everything. And someone in my dorm keeps whispering about fate like it's a pick-up line."
She chuckled—quiet but real. "Sounds about right."
Dylan looked at her—really looked.Her body was weaker, but her eyes were still sharp. Watching. Holding something she wasn't saying.
And for a second—just a second—the walls felt too thin. The light too bright. The air too still.
Something deep inside him shifted. Like he was standing at the edge of something much larger than he could see.
She noticed the way he tensed. And she said, gently:
"When the world changes… it doesn't knock."
ylan sat in silence, picking at the edge of his coffee cup. The hospital's white noise pressed in around him—beeps, hums, the faint shuffling of nurses down the hall.
His grandmother's voice broke the quiet again. Softer this time."You know what I'd really like to see before I go?"
He glanced at her, unsure whether to answer or pretend he didn't hear.
She didn't wait."You. Settled down. With someone decent."
Dylan blinked. "Grandma…"
"Don't you 'Grandma' me." Her eyes narrowed. "You're nineteen. Not a child. A woman's touch might stop you from wearing mismatched socks and eating cold noodles at 2 a.m."
He chuckled. "You're assuming I'm even dating."
"So you're not?"
"I didn't say that."
She smirked. "Then why haven't you brought her around? Or are you embarrassed by your old, dying grandmother?"
Dylan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not that."
Her expression softened.
"Is it because… you think she looks down on us?"
He looked up. She was serious now.
"Because we're not from a line of Awakeners?" she asked quietly. "Because we've never had a title or a power or a crest?"
The question hung in the air like a bruise.
Dylan didn't answer right away.
"People like that… they live in another world," he said finally. "With different expectations. Different rules. It's not just about strength—it's bloodlines, mana thresholds, reputation. You don't just date someone like that. You're vetted. Measured."
His grandmother stared at him, expression unreadable."And what did she say?"
"…She didn't have to say anything."
The room went quiet again.
After a moment, his grandmother reached out and gently grabbed his wrist.
"Dylan, listen to me."
He looked at her.
"You may not come from a legacy. But I raised you with pride. We may not have bloodlines, but we have backbone. If she can't see what you're worth now, with or without some glowing mark on your chest… then she doesn't deserve to see you when the world finally wakes up to what you are."
Dylan swallowed, nodding slowly.
And yet, part of him knew—it wasn't just about her.It was about them. All of them.The ones who'd looked at him like he was less.The ones who would do much worse once they realized what he might become.
The door opened slowly, revealing a doctor in a white coat. His face was unreadable, but his eyes told the truth before he spoke a word.
"Dylan?"
Dylan stood up immediately, heart already sinking.
"Can we speak for a moment?"
He glanced back at his grandmother. She had already closed her eyes again, drifting in and out of sleep.
He nodded, following the doctor out into the hall.
And just like that, the warm moment between them—Melted into cold silence.
The hallway was too bright.
That harsh hospital lighting always felt a little wrong to Dylan—like it was trying too hard to pretend everything was okay. He stood by the vending machines, arms folded, barely hearing the soft hum of nurses moving past.
Then the door opened.
Dr. Kaito stepped out. Early forties, lab coat too clean, eyes too tired.
Dylan straightened immediately.
"How is she?" he asked, even though he already knew something was wrong.
The doctor hesitated—not long, but just enough to make Dylan's stomach turn.
"Dylan… can we speak in private?"
They walked a few feet down the hall into a consultation room. Cold chair. Closed blinds. Table with untouched tissues. Dylan sat, fingers clenched together.
Dr. Kaito didn't sugarcoat it.
"It's your grandmother's lungs."A pause."She's been fighting for a while, but the disease flared aggressively overnight. Her condition's no longer stable. The inflammation's spread. Fast."
Dylan's chest tightened."But she was fine yesterday. Talking. Laughing. She was eating!"
The doctor nodded solemnly. "That's the nature of some terminal cases. They plateau, sometimes improve... then collapse suddenly. Her vitals dropped this morning."
"What does that mean?"
Dr. Kaito looked him in the eyes. Firm, but gentle."It means… you should prepare yourself. We don't think she has much time left."
Dylan stared at the wall. Words turned to static.
"How long?"
"A few days. Maybe less."
Silence.
The doctor stood. "She's awake. You should go sit with her. Say anything you need to say."
As the door clicked shut behind him, Dylan sat frozen.
No movement. No breath. Just that slow, quiet weight pressing in.
The kind of silence that only comes right before a world ends.
Part Two : What Was Never Yours
The velvet ring box felt like it weighed ten kilos in Dylan's pocket.
He waited outside the Arcane Institute gates, watching mana-fed streetlamps flicker as dusk settled. His breath came slow and shallow. He kept replaying her smile in his head—the one she wore when she wasn't trying to impress anyone. That rare, real version of her.
But when she finally stepped through the gate, she wasn't smiling.
Kaelina Virell—the heir of House Virell, direct bloodline of awakeners since the Third Ascent—walked with grace sculpted by breeding and power. Her uniform was pristine, her mana cloak pulsing faintly behind her like a second skin.
Dylan swallowed."Thanks for coming. I… I needed to see you."
She raised an eyebrow, bored already. "What is it, Dylan? I'm due for family conditioning in twenty minutes."
He fumbled the box from his coat pocket and dropped to one knee before he could think twice.
Opened it.
"Kaelina Virell—will you marry me?"
For half a second, she didn't react.
Then her laugh shattered the air.
Cold. Loud. Cruel.
She didn't even try to hide it.
"You're proposing to me?"
He stood up slowly, face pale. "I meant it. I love you."
Kaelina stared at him like he was an insect on her shoe.
"Do you even hear yourself?"She stepped closer, her tone sharp enough to peel skin."You think love is enough to climb into a bloodline like mine? My family was chosen by the Astral Court. My ancestors scaled the first towers barefoot and left their names in the sky. You can't even light a sigil."
Dylan flinched but didn't speak.
Kaelina sneered.
"You're not awakened. You're not noble. You're not anything. You're a sentimental distraction I picked up because I was bored. A pet. A temporary indulgence. And you mistook it for destiny."
The words hit like bricks.
He tried to say something—anything—but she cut him off.
"You thought a ring would change that?" She laughed again."Gods, you really are from the slums. You think cheap silver and shaking hands make a bond?"
She stepped back, adjusting the cuffs of her mana-lined uniform.
"Don't ever contact me again. And if anyone asks—I never knew you."
Then she turned and walked away, without another word, without looking back.
Dylan stood there, the ring box still open in his hand.
He didn't cry. He didn't scream.
He just stood.
And something inside him sank so deep it never came back up.
Above him, somewhere far beyond the visible sky, a tower pulsed.
Something had seen.
And it was listening.