Blood Bond

Father had decided that we should stay overnight at the temple. I knew it was for my sake, they were still looking at me like some crystal glass that might shatter at any time.

At dinner, over the clinks of cutlery against the porcelain plates, I tried to bring up the refugees and the wars. Theron jumped in, his voice tight with figures, "Father, the latest reports from the Equorian border state—"

SLAM!

Father's fist hit the table, the sound echoing sharply in the sudden, heavy silence. Theron flinched, his face falling into resigned lines. "Not tonight, child," Father's voice was rough, weary. "This is not for you to fret about."

It dawned on me then, seeing the deep grooves etched around his eyes, how exhausted he looked. His usual booming laughter had been a mask, hiding the darker weight beneath. His face reminded me of my other mom, drained after her double shifts.

Perhaps he knows how perilous the situation is. Was he trapped? I had thought naively that only Theron and I saw the cliff edge, but maybe Father knew, and simply saw no way down. After all, just building up troops wouldn't solve the rot spreading through the Concord, not in the long term.

The rest of dinner passed in stilted silence. Afterwards, I let Mother and Father tuck me into bed. The temple cell was tiny and drab compared to my royal bedroom, but it was a comforting sort of tiny, filled with their warmth. Here, tucked beneath the coarse blanket, I reverted back to being small again. Mother hummed a half-remembered lullaby, her fingers stroking through my hair, and the deep baritone rumble of Father's voice filled the small space, gently rocking me down to sleep.

—

BEEP... BEEP...

Pain. Not sharp, but a dull, insistent throbbing behind my eyes. My eyelids felt glued together.

BEEP... BEEP...

That smell… sharp, stinging. Like the nurse's office, but stronger. Antiseptic. Wrong. Where were the pines and incense?

BEEP… BEEP…

I forced my eyes open. Blurriness? That's not right. My hand reached instinctively to the side table and was jolted by the familiar frame of my glasses. They're here? Sliding them on, everything snapped into focus: Fluorescent lights reflected off pale, acoustic ceiling tiles, stark and sterile. No stone. No sunlight coming through the high window above.

My head swiveled weakly. White walls. A metal stand with a clear bag dripping fluid through a tube. The tube snaked down to… my arm. Tape held a needle against my skin. An IV. What…?

Thin, scratchy sheets covered me, a world away from… velvet? Silk? Wait, no, I know what this is. Why am I in a hospital gown?

My hand! My hands were my own: long, knobby fingers, tanned instead of pale. What? No, That's not my hand at all, they look awful!

I pushed down the part of me that's Elara, who's screaming about every little thing I noticed as I took stock of myself. I was Leo again, except for the IV, everything felt normal. My hand reached for the base of my throat. The seed wasn't there.

As I looked about the room, my gaze snagged on a figure slumped in a hard plastic chair beside the bed. Mom. Her dark hair, usually pulled back neatly for work, was messy, falling around a face pale with exhaustion. Her eyes were closed, red-rimmed, dark circles smudged beneath them like bruises. She looked… ravaged. Smaller than I remembered. The sight twisted something sharp and painful in my gut.

She must have sensed me moving. Her eyes snapped open – relief, stark and potent, warring with a deep, consuming fear.

"Leo!" A choked whisper. She surged forward, gripping my hand. "Oh, thank god! You're awake! You're finally awake!" Tears welled, as relief spilled over her face. "You fainted, honey. At school..."

Fainted? The last thing from this world I remembered was Kyle's angry face morphing into confusion, Naomi's cry, the ground rushing up… then darkness. But I couldn't shake the last vivid memory from the other world, the temple cell, Mother's fingers stroking through my hair, the deep baritone rumble of Father's voice gently rocking me towards sleep. That had to be real too. I as Elara had to be real, there were too many memories here for it to be fake.

Before I could untangle the conflicting realities, the door opened, and a man in a white coat stepped in, followed by a nurse carrying a chart. He had a calm, professional air, his eyes softening with recognition when he saw mom.

"Dolores," he said quietly, nodding to her before turning to me. "Leonard? Glad to see you awake. I'm Dr. Sharma."

Mom nodded back, her grip tightening on my hand almost imperceptibly. She stared hard at Dr. Sharma's face, her own expression becoming tense, watchful. I had the sudden feeling she recognized this tone, this careful quietness before something important was said.

"We ran some tests while you were unresponsive, Leo," Dr. Sharma began, his tone even, perhaps gentler for Mom's sake. "To figure out why you collapsed..." He paused, meeting my eyes, then Mom's. The air grew thick, heavy. Mom held her breath, her face paling further.

"The tests confirmed our initial concerns." A quiet breath. "Leo, you have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. It's a type of cancer that affects the blood and bone marrow."

Cancer? The word felt alien, grotesque. This affliction can't be real! A voice screamed silently inside my head – sharp and indignant, Elara's voice. This place, these sterile walls, this 'doctor', these buzzing machines -- how can you heal in a place like this?!

Mom's reaction was devastatingly real. A strangled cry tore from her, raw agony. "No! Oh god, no! Not Leo... Leukemia?" She wasn't just crying; she was shaking apart, clutching my hand like a lifeline, her body wracked with sobs that seemed torn from her very soul. "Are you sure? Please... tell me there's a mistake... What do we do?" Her voice broke, dissolving into incoherent grief.

"It's serious, yes," Dr. Sharma said gently, his gaze full of sympathy but his voice firm. "ALL can progress rapidly... We need to act quickly." He leaned forward. "The immediate next step is crucial. We need to check if the leukemia cells have spread... perform a lumbar puncture – a spinal tap..." He explained it clearly, looking at Mom, acknowledging her understanding. "It's standard, Dolores, but necessary given his symptoms."

Cancer. Hospital. Spinal tap. The words hammered, stealing my breath, drowning out everything else.

—

Later that evening, after Dr. Sharma had left and the room had settled into a strained quiet punctuated only by the soft beep of the monitor and Mom's muffled sniffles, the door opened hesitantly.

Maya stood there, looking smaller than usual in the harsh hospital lighting. Her usual bouncy energy was visibly dampened, her wide blue eyes darting from the IV pole, to the tube taped to my arm, to my face. She clutched a well-worn fantasy novel to her chest like a shield.

Mom went to her, murmuring something quiet, and then Maya approached the bed slowly.

"Hey," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to her usual cheerful teasing. She stopped a few feet away, uncertainty clouding her features. "Mom said... she said you fainted."

I tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it felt weak, brittle. "Yeah. Tripped over my own feet, I guess." The lie felt flimsy, pointless.

She took another hesitant step closer, her gaze fixed on the IV line. "Does... does it hurt?"

"Nah," I managed, shaking my head. "Just weird."

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An awkward silence stretched between us. Then Maya looked directly at me, her lower lip trembling. "Leo..." Her voice wobbled. "Are you... are you gonna be okay?"

Her eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, reminded me of another time, in another world. Of Elara with tear blurred eyes, watching Astrid strap on her silver armor before heading out to face her first assignment, a demon that had risen over the Grey Reaches. That same knot of fear, the desperate hope squeezed tight in the chest for an older sibling who seemed invincible but deep down, you feared wasn't.

The flimsy attempt at nonchalance dissolved. My voice softened, losing its forced casualness. I reached out, my hand covering Maya's small one still clutching the book.

"Hey," I said again, my voice quieter, more direct. "It's okay to be scared, Maya. It's... it's a bit scary for me too." A beat of silence. "But they're going to take care of me here. Mom's here." I squeezed her hand gently. "I'm going to be okay. We'll figure it out."

Maya didn't pull away this time. She leaned in, resting her forehead against our joined hands for just a moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between us that felt more real than any forced cheerfulness could have.

Mom stepped forward then, her hand gentle on Maya's shoulder. "Okay, sweetie, time to let your brother rest. We can come back tomorrow."

Maya nodded, her eyes still worried but maybe a fraction less terrified, and gave my hand one last squeeze before letting Mom lead her out. The quiet she left behind felt different this time – less heavy, more thoughtful.

—

Sleep wouldn't come. After Mom finally left, promising to be back before dawn, the hospital room felt unnervingly quiet, broken only by the rhythmic, indifferent beep of the monitor beside my bed. The darkness outside the window felt absolute, a stark contrast to the swirling chaos inside my head.

I turned onto my side, the thin hospital mattress crinkling beneath me. Was any of it real? The sterile smell, the IV taped to my arm, the devastating words – Leukemia. Cancer. It felt like a nightmare, cold and sharp. But then, just as vivid, just as insistent, were the memories of Aetheria. The weight of velvet, the cool stone corridors, the taste of sparkling juice, the rumble of Father's voice, the warmth of Mother's hand... Elara's life felt as tangible as my own heartbeat.

—

When Dr. Sharma and a nurse arrived early, explaining the lumbar puncture procedure, my resolve was firm. They spoke of collecting fluid, checking for cells, maybe injecting medicine. All I heard was intrusion.

"No sedation," I stated, my voice perhaps steadier than I felt.

Dr. Sharma raised an eyebrow, glancing at Mom who stood beside my bed, her face etched with worry. "Leonard, it just helps you relax, ensures you stay still..."

"I'll stay still," I insisted. "I want... I need to be awake."

Mom looked like she wanted to argue, but after a long look at my face, she just gave a tight nod to the doctor.

They had me curl on my side, knees pulled towards my chest, my back exposed. The position felt vulnerable, unnatural, my gown shifted, leaving my skin bare to the cool room air. Exposed. In a way Meris would never permit.

Something cold slid across my lower back. Antiseptic, the rational part of me supplied, echoing their explanation. But the cold felt wrong, ritualistic, like my skin is being prepared for sacrifice...

Then a sharp sting. Numbing medicine, they were saying. It made me jump. The sensation faded quickly into an awful deadness where the sting had been. What sorcery was this? To be touched, invaded, yet not feel the skin itself? Unnatural! Terrifying!

Then, the pressure began, steady, insistent against my spine. The needle. I focused fiercely on staying absolutely still. They need a sample. But the pressure felt like invasion. Boring deep! What vile instrument is this? My breath hitched. Flashes of imagined horrors filled my mind – not sterile needles, but crude, dark implements wielded by shadowy figures, things with claws and cruel intent, probing, violating... Demons! This is how they torture! The pressure deepened, probing between the bone. My heart hammered against my ribs. Get out! Make it stop! I gasped, clenching my fists, my body rigid with the effort of not thrashing against the assault I felt pushing into my very core. Almost done, I heard someone murmur, the voice distant, unimportant compared to the internal screaming.

Suddenly, the pressure eased, then vanished. It was over. The violation ceased. But the feeling of alien intrusion, the echo of the terror that interpreted the procedure through the lens of demonic horrors, left me trembling and cold despite the thin hospital blanket.

—

The morning light filtered through the blinds like an accusation. My back throbbed where the needle had been, a deep, invasive ache. I was still trembling, curled on my side, when the knock came. Mom opened the door a crack, spoke quietly, then Sam shuffled awkwardly into the room.

He wore his usual hoodie, hood down, and clutched a brightly colored gift bag and a large card. On his face was a blue paper facemask, hanging askew, making him look even more out of place.

"Why are you wearing a mask?!" I hissed, a little sharper than I intended to. But it's been forever – no, wait, it was only yesterday, at least in this world – since I saw my best friend. Why couldn't things go right for me just this once.

Sam flinched. "Oh. Uh... hospital rules? 'Cause... you know..." He gestured vaguely, looking uncomfortable.

I tried to sit up, and realized I couldn't. I shouldn't. They had told me. Another one of their stupid rules! This place is so cold and indifferent. All these 'displays' that are around me, they glow, they make sounds, and yet are so utterly lifeless. I don't want to die here. I felt Elara curling up inside of myself, and all I could do is hug myself tight.

"Hey, come on. We're here for you. And umm... if Maya or your mom ever need anything… we can help."

I nodded numbly. So I'm already written off as dead.

"So like, everyone was really broken up last night when we heard the news. Chloe and I decided to get this card for you. Kyle too. Yeah, I know, crazy right? We all also chipped on the new switch thingy, figured you'd like it. That boy ran over to grab it first thing in the morning."

He lowered the bag on a stool, and placed the card in my hand. My fingers mechanically parted the cardboard, not even bothering to see the front. Inside were their names scrawled out in ink: Chloe's bubbly script, Sam's messy print, even Kyle's blocky signature. Tears filled my eyes. Why am I crying?! I didn't even do this when I was with mom.

Sam looked over his shoulder, worried. "Listen, your mom said only five minutes."

Closing my eyes was the only way I could staunch the tears. Sobs leaked out. "Thanks."

"Yeah..." Sam paused, seeming to gather himself. "Just... fight through this, alright? We will get to the finish line again, together."

I nodded. He left and the room was silent and inanimate once more.

—

The hours after Sam's visit crawled by. The intense ache in my back from the spinal tap gradually subsided into a dull throb. Mom coaxed me into drinking juice and broth. Later, leaning heavily on her arm, I managed a short, slow walk down the quiet hospital corridor and back, the brief excursion leaving me breathless but feeling less trapped than when I was confined to the bed.

Back resting against the propped-up pillows, my thoughts inevitably drifted. Sam hadn't mentioned Naomi. Not once. Why? Then it hit me, a cold realization settling over the lingering physical discomfort. Her mom. The hospital visits, the chemo she'd tearfully mentioned before. Of course. Why would she want to come here? This place, for her, must be filled with its own specific kind of dread. It would be like rubbing salt in an open wound. The hope of seeing her, a small spark I hadn't even realized I was holding onto, flickered and died.

The evening wore on. Nurses came and went, checking the IV, taking my temperature. Each time the door opened, a stupid, automatic leap of hope flared in my chest, only to be immediately extinguished. She wasn't coming. It was foolish to even think she might.

I was just drifting into an uneasy doze when the door opened again. I didn't bother looking up this time, expecting another check-in.

"Leo?"

My eyes snapped open. Naomi stood hesitantly in the doorway, her usual grace replaced by a visible tension. She wore a simple mask, just like Sam had, but clutched her hands tightly in front of her. Mom gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod from her chair before quietly busying herself with organizing things on the bedside table, giving us a semblance of privacy.

Naomi stepped further into the room. "Hi," she said softly, her dark eyes searching my face. "I... I wasn't sure if I should come. Hospitals..." She trailed off, looking down for a moment. "I wasn't sure I was strong enough."

I swallowed, unsure what to say. Her vulnerability mirrored my own fear in a way that was startling.

She took a deep breath, her gaze steadying, meeting mine again. "But I kept thinking... about the library. About..." She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "About us. So I had to come. Because... we're kind of a couple now, right?"

My brain stalled. The IV beeped rhythmically, the only sound in the room. "We're... a couple?" The words came out in a confused croak.

A small, determined smile touched her lips, visible even with the mask. "We held hands at the library, remember? I'm looking forward to our first date after you get out of here. So you have to get better."

Tell her she's beautiful, you idiot! The thought slammed into my mind, sharp, exasperated, undeniably Elara.

I looked at Naomi – her dark eyes earnest behind the mask, her presence a sudden, startling light in the bleakness of the room. "You're beautiful," I exhaled with conviction.

Her eyes widened above the mask, and a soft blush crept up her neck. The air in the room shifted, charged with something fragile and hopeful. Despite the IV, the diagnosis, the lingering pain, and the terrifying uncertainty, a giddy, impossible warmth spread through my chest. I can get through this, I have to.