"Go... sir... get in..." Vance choked out.
Arthur pushed Elian into the panic room. "Stay there!" he ordered the boy.
Arthur knelt beside Vance, pressing his hands against the wound, trying to stop the massive flow of blood. But it was no use. The man was dying right in front of him.
Suddenly, Elian slipped out of the panic room.
"No! Get back inside!" Arthur screamed.
But Elian knelt in the pooling blood. He placed his small, glowing hands over Vance’s shattered leg.
"Elian, don't! It will kill you!" Arthur pleaded, trying to pull the boy away.
But the boy held firm. The brilliant, shimmering energy poured from his hands into Vance’s body. The torn artery sealed. The shattered bone knitted together. Vance took a massive, shuddering breath, his color returning.
But Elian collapsed backward, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The glowing energy faded entirely. His skin turned a terrifying, ashen gray. His breathing stopped.
Chapter 6: The Awakening
"Elian!"
Arthur scrambled to the boy, scooping his small, lifeless body into his arms. The gunfire outside the library seemed to fade into a muffled buzz. Nothing else mattered. The billionaire held the filthy, extraordinary child against his chest, feeling for a heartbeat. It was there, but it was incredibly faint, like a fading drumbeat echoing in a deep canyon.
"Vance, get up!" Arthur roared, tears streaming down his face—a physical reaction he hadn't experienced since childhood. "We have to get him to Aris!"
Vance, confused and entirely whole, stared at his unbroken leg before snapping into action. The security chief stood up, grabbed his weapon, and led the way into the panic room, sealing the massive steel vault door behind them. The room was impenetrable, equipped with its own communication array and medical supplies.
Arthur laid Elian on the cot inside the vault. The boy was ice cold.
"Come on, kid," Arthur begged, rubbing Elian’s hands, trying to generate friction, warmth, anything. "You can't die. Not for me. Not for my men. You're just a kid."
Arthur grabbed the emergency phone and directly patched into the local police commissioner, a man Arthur practically owned. "I need every SWAT team, every helicopter, and every officer you have at my estate. Now. If you don't have them here in five minutes, I will personally see to it that you never work in this country again."
Within ten minutes, the whine of police sirens and the thumping rotors of SWAT helicopters filled the night sky. The mercenaries, realizing they were outgunned and out of time, fled into the night.
When the estate was finally secured, Dr. Aris rushed into the panic room. He immediately hooked Elian up to oxygen and an IV. Arthur paced the room like a caged tiger, his newly healed legs carrying him relentlessly back and forth.
"How is he?" Arthur demanded, his voice cracking.
"His vital signs are critically low," Dr. Aris said grimly. "Arthur... he used all his reserves. His cellular energy is almost entirely depleted. I can put fluids in him, but I can't restart whatever magic was keeping him going. If he doesn't wake up on his own, he's going to slip into a coma and... and he won't come out."
Arthur sat in a chair next to the cot, burying his face in his hands. He was a master of the universe. He could move markets with a phone call, topple governments with his bank accounts, and destroy lives with a signature. But he could not save the one life that actually mattered.
For three days, Elian lay in a state of deep unconsciousness in Arthur’s private medical wing. During those three days, Arthur did not leave his side. He didn't answer calls from his board of directors. He didn't manage his stocks.
Instead, he made a different set of phone calls.
He called his lawyers. He called his accountants. He began drafting the most insane legal documents in corporate history.
On the fourth morning, Elian’s fingers twitched. Arthur, who was dozing in the chair beside him, jolted awake. The boy’s eyes fluttered open. The vibrant, glowing cerulean blue was gone, replaced by a soft, normal, human brown.