Chapter 156: Tatiana
Everyone makes mistakes.
And as long as they're willing to admit them, even a prodigal can find their way back.
In many ways, the world is surprisingly forgiving.
Most harmless mistakes are met with a shrug.
People look the other way, let things slide, and move on.
But there is one thing the world guards with almost cruel stinginess—
Life.
The longer Ethan ran the clinic, the more complicated the word became.
Fragile.
Heavy.
A person spends years becoming who they are.
Countless meals. Sleepless nights. Failures. Struggles. Small victories.
More than a decade of living just to become an adult capable of standing on their own.
And yet all of that can vanish in an instant.
One accident.
One uncontrolled illness.
One stray bullet.
And suddenly years of effort, memories, and future possibilities are erased.
Life is not fragile because it is short.
It is fragile because it can be taken away so easily.
And life is heavy because it carries everything attached to it—
Experiences.
Relationships.
Dreams.
The bonds people cannot bear to lose.
That was why Ethan had gradually become convinced of one thing.
The purpose of the Holy Light was to grant people a second chance.
Respect.
Compassion.
The Light respected the simple fact that every life had managed to reach this moment, regardless of whether the road behind them had been right or wrong.
It rejected the notion that anything was truly beyond saving.
With stubborn determination, it declared to the world that even when life appeared to have reached its end, there might still be a path forward.
And it showed compassion.
Not by excusing mistakes.
But by refusing to let mistakes become the entirety of a person's story.
The Light is with you.
Ethan found himself believing those words more and more with each passing day.
That afternoon, Rayne Clinic received an emergency patient.
She looked incredibly young.
The girl wore a simple ballet practice outfit—not a glamorous stage costume, but the plain clothing used for endless hours of training.
The fabric was faded gray-white.
Worn from years of use.
Yet meticulously clean.
Her legs were long and lean.
Every muscle fiber had been sculpted by relentless repetition.
There wasn't an ounce of unnecessary weight on her frame.
Her skin was pale, though not soft.
Around her ankles and calves were countless tiny scars.
Some had faded into faint white lines.
Others still carried a reddish tint.
They were the marks left by years of friction, pressure, and sacrifice.
Two women had brought her in.
One was middle-aged.
She wore dark clothing tailored for movement rather than fashion.
There was nothing decorative about it.
The outfit looked designed for teaching, demonstrating, and perhaps even discipline.
The only striking feature was her jewelry.
Heavy silver collars rested against her collarbone.
Geometric pendants hung like cold pieces of steel.
Long metallic earrings swayed gently when she moved.
The accessories didn't feel ornamental.
They felt ceremonial.
Like symbols of vows.
Or chains.
The second woman stood behind her.
From the way the first woman addressed her, Ethan understood that she was known simply as the Godmother.
Everything about her radiated authority.
The patient's condition was obviously critical.
The Godmother approached the reception desk.
Without saying a word, she produced a gold coin and placed it gently on the counter.
The metal struck the surface with a crisp, ringing note.
Helen stared at it for two full seconds.
Then she simply picked it up.
She asked no questions.
Instead, she treated them like any other emergency case and immediately set the clinic into motion.
The girl's name was Tatiana.
It was a beautiful name.
But there was nothing light about it.
By the time she was placed on the examination bed, her consciousness was already wavering.
Barely awake.
Barely holding on.
Her skin was burning with fever.
Yet her body shook uncontrollably.
A dangerous sign.
Ethan carefully removed the bandages around her foot.
The smell hit immediately.
Not the sweet odor of decay.
Something different.
The distinctive metallic scent of a deep infection barely suppressed by disinfectant.
Her toes were visibly swollen.
Darkened.
The skin stretched tightly from internal pressure.
Several repeatedly reopened wounds had developed irregular gray-white borders.
Necrotic tissue.
The first unmistakable signs of death.
Ethan pressed gently with his thumb.
There was no reaction.
"No sensation."
His voice was quiet.
"She's already lost feeling."
The monitor continued its unsettling rhythm.
Persistent tachycardia.
Dropping blood pressure.
Rapid, shallow, irregular breathing.
Tatiana's lips were unnaturally pale.
Tiny cracks at the corners had begun to bleed.
Her eyes remained half-open, but they struggled to focus on anything.
"Cold..."
The word escaped her lips in a whisper.
Another classic symptom of sepsis.
Her body's temperature regulation had failed.
Her immune system was no longer fighting only the infection.
It had begun attacking everything.
Ethan reviewed the laboratory results.
White blood cell count: critically elevated.
Lactate levels: rising.
Coagulation function: deteriorating.
The infection had already entered the bloodstream.
If it progressed further, multiple organ failure would follow.
Then confusion.
Shock.
Death.
Only a matter of time.
Ethan leaned closer.
"Tatiana."
Her eyelashes fluttered slightly.
"When did the injury happen?"
Her throat moved.
"...Two weeks ago."
Ethan frowned.
"How?"
"Rehearsal."
Her voice was barely audible.
"I landed badly."
"You broke the skin?"
She nodded weakly.
"Was it treated?"
"Disinfected."
"Bandaged."
Ethan glanced at her foot.
"And then you kept training."
Silence.
A moment later, she nodded again.
"Why didn't you go to a hospital?"
Her lips parted.
No answer came.
Finally, she whispered:
"We had performances scheduled."
Her breathing grew slightly faster.
"I couldn't stop."
"If I stopped..."
She swallowed.
"There might not have been another chance."
Ethan sighed inwardly.
She couldn't have been more than eighteen.
Most girls her age were enjoying life.
Tatiana had gambled hers on a performance schedule.
"When did the pain become noticeably worse?"
"The third day."
"When did the swelling start?"
"The fourth."
"When did you begin feeling sick? Fever, exhaustion, night sweats?"
She searched her memory.
"...Maybe the seventh day."
Ethan looked at the foot that no longer felt pain.
"You never thought something was wrong?"
For the first time, a ripple of emotion crossed her eyes.
"I thought..."
Her voice was barely a breath.
"If I endured it long enough..."
"It would pass."
She lowered her gaze.
"Everyone else gets through it."
When she finished speaking, her focus began drifting away again.
Ethan straightened.
He had heard enough.
Turning toward the Godmother, he spoke calmly.
"Under standard medical practice..."
His voice remained steady.
"The leg would have to be amputated immediately."
Tatiana's eyes flew open.
For the first time since arriving, she was fully present.
Pure terror surged through her.
Her trembling intensified.
Yet she neither cried nor begged.
After several seconds, she slowly closed her eyes.
Her throat tightened.
"So..."
The words emerged in a fragile whisper.
"I won't be able to dance anymore?"
Ethan didn't answer.
In the ordinary world, the question already had an answer.
Here, however, things were different.
Without the Holy Light—
A hardworking young dancer would lose everything she had built because of one mistake.
One injury.
One decision to keep going.
Ethan looked down at her leg.
The line between living tissue and dead tissue was already obvious.
Any surgeon would know exactly where to cut.
For a moment, he imagined the future that awaited her after amputation.
The image was unbearable.
He shook it away.
"Remember this."
He looked directly at her.
"When you're injured, deal with it immediately."
"When your body tells you something is wrong, see a doctor."
"Your body spent seven straight days warning you."
"And you ignored every single warning."
He paused.
Then continued quietly:
"Miracles don't happen every time."
Tatiana stared at him blankly.
She clearly didn't understand what he meant.
Ethan offered no further explanation.
Instead, he closed his eyes and focused.
His hands rested gently upon the girl's leg.
The air seemed to grow heavier, as though an invisible pressure had settled over the room.
To everyone else, nothing extraordinary was happening.
There was no blinding radiance.
No burst of supernatural energy.
Everything appeared calm and quiet.
But within Ethan's perception, a soft and sacred glow slowly spread across Tatiana's leg.
The first thing to change was the smell.
The metallic odor of deep infection vanished within seconds, as if some unseen force had simply erased it from existence.
Then came the skin.
The dark purple and gray-white areas of necrotic tissue began changing before their eyes.
Color gradually returned.
Healthy blood flowed back into places it had long abandoned, as though the body had finally been given permission to live again.
The monitor emitted a series of subtle but unmistakable tones.
Her heart rate dropped.
Her blood pressure rose.
Her breathing steadied.
Tatiana's brow twitched.
A moment later, she inhaled sharply.
The pain had returned.
Not because the injury was worsening.
Because sensation itself had come back.
The infection wasn't being suppressed.
It wasn't being delayed.
It was being completely eradicated.
As the glow continued to spread, excess healing energy flowed throughout her body.
The chronic wounds around her ankles—formed from years of friction and relentless training—closed rapidly.
Her skin regained its elasticity.
Even the bruising beneath her toenails slowly faded away.
Her body relaxed.
One hand slipped weakly from the edge of the bed.
A few minutes later, Ethan withdrew his hands.
Silence settled over the examination room once more.
Only the sound of the girl's calm, steady breathing remained.
Tatiana had fallen into a deep sleep.
The Godmother stood where she was, watching everything.
Her gaze never left Ethan's hands.
When those impossible changes occurred beneath his touch—changes without sound, without spectacle, beyond explanation—the fingers hidden within her sleeves tightened ever so slightly.
She neither stepped forward nor retreated.
Her expression never changed.
As though what she had witnessed was simply something that ought to happen.
Eventually, she gave a slight nod.
"Thank you, Doctor."
---
Tatiana felt as though she had been dreaming for a very long time.
A deep dream.
A peaceful one.
When she opened her eyes, the examination room was quiet.
The Godmother was gone.
Only the doctor remained, seated at his desk and writing something in a patient file.
The lighting was warm.
Soft.
Not the harsh white glare of a hospital.
For several seconds, she simply lay there, trying to remember where she was.
Then she instinctively moved her foot.
And froze.
There was no pain.
No numbness.
Instead, there was something she had almost forgotten existed.
Wholeness.
She could feel her toes curling.
Every tiny sensation was clear and real.
The subtle texture of movement.
The pull of muscles.
The contact of skin.
It was an experience she hadn't truly possessed in years.
Slowly, she raised her leg and stared.
Ankle.
Calf.
Toes.
The skin was smooth.
The contours were clean and healthy.
The old injuries were gone.
The wounds that had opened, healed, reopened, and healed again countless times.
The scars she had believed would accompany her for the rest of her life.
Every one of them had vanished.
No scar tissue.
No discoloration.
As though they had never existed at all.
Carefully, she placed her foot on the edge of the bed and applied a little pressure.
Stable.
Balanced.
Responsive.
The feedback from her toes felt almost unfamiliar in its precision.
This was a body that obeyed a dancer's will completely.
Tatiana's breathing caught.
Then she covered her mouth.
Her eyes reddened almost instantly.
Like a blind person seeing the world again after years of darkness—
She finally understood what had been returned to her.
Ethan stood nearby and said nothing.
He simply watched.
After a while, Tatiana slowly climbed off the bed.
Barefoot, she stood on the floor.
Perfectly steady.
She didn't speak immediately.
Instead, she took a small step backward and straightened her posture.
Feet together.
Toes naturally turned outward.
Back straight.
Shoulders relaxed.
Her arms rose gracefully before settling once more.
It was a flawless gesture of gratitude.
The kind so deeply ingrained in a dancer that it had become part of her soul.
She lowered her head.
"Thank you, Doctor."
Her voice was quiet.
Yet crystal clear.
Ethan smiled and nodded.
"Take better care of your body from now on."
"I will."
Tatiana took a deep breath.
Then, with a trace of hesitation, she continued.
"If it's possible..."
She paused.
"I'd like to invite you to one of my performances."
Her eyes lowered briefly.
"Right now, no words I say could truly express how grateful I am."
She looked up again.
"When I stand on stage once more..."
"When I've returned to my best self..."
For a moment she stopped.
Then she met Ethan's gaze directly.
Calm.
Open.
Determined.
"I think that will be the most sincere thank-you I can offer."
The room fell quiet.
Ethan looked at her.
A girl who had just been pulled back from the edge of despair now stood before him with her head held high and her eyes shining brightly.
And suddenly he understood.
She wanted to thank him with the finest thing she possessed.
Not a blood oath.
Not an obligation.
Not a debt.
But the very best version of herself.
A gift offered freely and wholeheartedly.
"Then I'll be there," Ethan said.
Tatiana seemed to hear something far more important than a simple promise.
She bowed once more.
This time the movement was gentler.
And somehow, even more solemn.