CHAPTER 28: SIMILAR YET DIFFERENT

The hospital corridor smelled faintly of antiseptic. Her heels clicked softly against the glossy floor, each step measured, betraying nothing of the restless current racing beneath her calm exterior.

When Seliora arrived, the guards at the entrance of the room immediately straightened, bowing their heads in deference.

Through the glass panel in the door, she saw him. Awake. Upright against the raised bed, an IV line still attached to his arm, his silver-streaked hair falling over his forehead in familiar disarray. His face was as she remembered it: composed, cold, unreadable.

A doctor was speaking quietly to Roy and two nurses, but when Seliora entered, the conversation shifted immediately to her.

"Madam," the physician said with a slight bow, "Sir Kealith’s condition is stable. He regained consciousness less than twenty minutes ago. His vitals are strong—blood pressure, oxygen levels, and neurological responses are all within safe margins."

Seliora’s eyes flicked from the doctor to Kealith, searching for any flicker of weakness. He only returned her gaze with the faintest arch of a brow, his expression softening.

The doctor continued, "We’ll be monitoring him closely over the next 24 to 48 hours. Given his specific condition—" here, his tone dropped with caution, "—there is always a risk of relapse. The shutdown episodes are unpredictable. But, for now, his cognitive functions are intact. He recognized staff on sight and responded to basic questions appropriately."

"And his body?" Seliora asked sharply. "Any damage?"

"No additional neurological loss that we can detect," the doctor said. "Muscle stiffness is present, as expected from prolonged immobility, but his reflexes are responsive. We’ll begin passive physiotherapy tonight. Hydration is our priority—we’ve already given him IV fluids. Later, if he tolerates it, we’ll introduce small amounts of broth or a liquid diet."

Seliora’s shoulders eased fractionally.

The doctor gave a final note: "Please allow him to rest. His body has been under immense strain. A few short conversations are fine, but no prolonged stress. We’ll run further tests overnight, and I’ll brief you in the morning."

With that, the medical team excused themselves, leaving the room quieter, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor.

Seliora moved to the bedside, her eyes softening as she sat down. For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"You had me worried," she murmured.

Kealith tilted his head slightly, his expression as flat as ever. "I’m fine."

"Fine?" Her laugh was soft, incredulous. "You’ve been unconscious for days after the surgery."

He met her gaze, calm, unflinching. "...But awake now."

Seliora studied him, a thousand things unsaid pressing at her lips. She wanted to scold him for frightening her, to press him for reassurance, to let her guard fall just a little—but Kealith’s face gave her nothing. The same blank expression. It was almost infuriating, and yet, it was exactly who he was.

She touched his face, brushing her hand over his silvery gray hair and down to his neck before cupping his cheek in her palm. She began softly, "When the surgery started, knowing there was a high risk of you being in danger, I was so scared. The hours dragged on, and so did the fear tightening my heart. When the surgery finally ended and I was informed it was successful, I was overjoyed, darling—over the moon. I thought that from then on, we wouldn’t need to go through continuous long treatments anymore. Yet when you didn’t wake up even by the third day, I began to worry. It’s been a week, Kealith."

Kealith placed his hand over hers, still resting against his face. "I’m sorry for making you worry, Mother."

"It’s alright. Now that you’re awake, everything will be fine from now on."

He sat up a little straighter, stretching his arms as far as the IV would allow. "What about Father?"

"Roy informed him—he’s on his way. He was on a business trip in California. He’s been occupied with taking care of the company in your absence, so he’s rarely been able to visit you."

"How is he? And the company? What about—"

"No, no business talks." Her voice cut him off gently. "You heard what the doctor said. A few short conversations are fine, but nothing long or serious, especially not about the company. And don’t worry about your father—he can take care of himself. He was the president of the company before he passed it to you, wasn’t he?"

She reached for his hand again, ignoring the IV needle taped to his wrist. His fingers were cool but steady beneath her touch.

"Rest," she whispered. "You still need it. There’s plenty of time before your father arrives."

Kealith closed his eyes, neither agreeing nor refusing—just sinking into silence.

His father, Darius Arsheborne, arrived an hour and a few minutes later. The sound of footsteps in the hallway shifted as the guards bowed their heads immediately when he passed.

Dressed in a suit with the jacket unbuttoned, a dark blue shirt beneath, and matching tailored trousers, he entered the ward. Kealith looked up at him, and the resemblance was undeniable. The sharp jawline, the straight nose, the heart-shaped lips, almond-shaped eyes, and straight brows—Darius was essentially an older, dark-haired version of his son. Only the warm brown eyes, inherited from Seliora coupled with the silver hair made him look similar and different from his father at the same time.

"Father," Kealith greeted softly, voice still hoarse but steady.

Darius’s steps slowed as he approached the bedside, and his face—so often reserved for boardrooms and executives—relaxed with a gentleness he rarely showed in public. "Kealith."

They exchanged the usual words a family would after such a long, frightening ordeal: reassurances that he was glad to see his son awake, relief that the surgery had gone well, gratitude for his recovery.

Kealith, despite his mother’s warning, eventually muttered, "Once I’m better, I’ll resume my responsibilities. I don’t want the workload to keep falling on you."

Darius only chuckled, low and warm. "I’m not complaining. Don’t rush. We’ll take everything step by step. There’s no need to carry the world the moment you open your eyes again."