Lyriana didn't run.
She glided.
Each step silent, each movement measured—like a queen descending a marble throne. Her black trousers flowed like liquid shadow, tailored to her impossible height. A deep green silk blouse hugged her torso, the sleeves slightly translucent under the hospital lights. Over it, a dark trench coat draped down her back, trailing like a royal cloak in the windless hall.
Her stiletto heels clicked once… twice… then fell into silence as everyone stopped moving.
Lyriana Delindor didn't walk into the hospital.
She arrived.
---
The corridor shifted.
A nurse froze mid-turn, eyes wide.
An intern holding a clipboard whispered, "Jesus Christ…"
A security guard instinctively reached for his radio—then lowered it, jaw slack.
"Is she real?" someone murmured.
"She's… enormous."
"No—beautiful," a woman breathed. "Like a… statue. A living statue."
One man accidentally bumped into a gurney and didn't even apologize. Another began to pull out his phone… then lowered it, hand trembling, as if sensing this was not someone you filmed.
---
Her hair flowed behind her in waves—obsidian black streaked with deep green, glinting like liquid gemstone. Her emerald eyes glowed softly, as if lit from within, and her features—symmetrical, ancient, too perfect to be human—made even the fluorescent lights feel like sunlight obeyed her.
She wore no makeup.
No jewelry.
And still, she looked like royalty incarnate.
As she passed the front desk, the floor itself seemed to lower in reverence. Staff instinctively stepped aside. Security blinked… then stepped back.
No one asked for her ID.
No one asked her to sign in.
No one dared.
She did not explain herself.
Lyriana had arrived.
And suddenly, the hospital felt far too small.
---
She reached the emergency wing, and her voice rang out—clear, commanding, slightly accented with a melody that made it unforgettable.
"Where is my son? Take me to him. Now."
The triage nurse flinched, caught between training and instinct. She raised a hand and said quickly,
"Ma'am, I need the patient's full name first."
"Valerius. Valerius Delindor."
Typing rapidly, the nurse glanced at the monitor.
"And your name?"
"Lyriana Delindor. I'm his mother."
The nurse hesitated. "Do you have any form of ID, please? It's standard procedure—we have to confirm relations."
Lyriana pulled out a sleek, black card from her coat and placed it firmly on the desk.
The nurse scanned it. Her eyes widened slightly at the information.
"Okay… Yes. He was brought in about twenty minutes ago. Multiple gunshot wounds, but he's stable. He's in Trauma Room B. Just down that hall—second door on your left."
Lyriana didn't thank her. She turned and walked, her massive frame brushing the walls as the hallway fell silent behind her.
She swept past the doors, barely fitting through the frame, and stepped into the trauma room.
---
Inside, doctors surrounded Valerius.
He lay face-down on the table, shirtless, blood streaked across his back in dried rivers. The bullets were still lodged in his flesh—three small, jagged lumps like metal tumors. His skin had resisted them—but not enough to keep him from bleeding.
Breathing. Stable. But still.
The room was silent—until a young male doctor glanced over his shoulder.
He saw her.
And stopped breathing.
"Oh my God…"
He turned fully. His chart slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a flutter of pages.
Another nurse saw her next, stumbled backward, and fell onto a stool behind her. She didn't get up.
The senior doctor, a stern-looking man with a square jaw and salt-and-pepper beard, took a step forward, as if on reflex.
"Who are you? You're not supposed to—"
"I'm his mother," Lyriana said, her voice calm and cold.
There was no echo in the room—but somehow her words filled it.
The doctors stared.
Every one of them.
She had to tilt her head beneath the ceiling tiles, her presence too large, too heavy for the room.
One nurse whispered to another, "She can barely stand upright in here…"
---
The senior doctor cleared his throat and pulled himself together, flipping instinctively into protocol.
"Ma'am. We need you to answer a few questions."
"Ask," Lyriana said, already stepping closer to the bed.
"Has your son ever suffered from abnormal injuries before?"
"No."
"Any known allergies? Medication history?"
"None."
"Has he experienced… unusual resilience to trauma before today?"
Lyriana looked directly into his eyes.
"I said no."
The doctor blinked.
"Ma'am, I understand you're under stress, but we've never seen anything like this. His skin—it's dense, almost like compressed carbon. The bullets didn't even reach his organs. There's no internal bleeding. No broken bones. No shock response. We can't even give him treatment because the needle cant pierce his skin"
He lowered his voice.
"It's… not normal."
Lyriana didn't blink.
"Neither are the people who attacked him."
---
The room remained still. One nurse quietly snapped off her gloves and retreated. Another scribbled something rapidly onto a chart, eyes darting between Valerius and his mother.
And then… slowly… Lyriana reached out and placed one hand on Valerius's back.
Her massive fingers spanned almost the entire width of his shoulders.
Valerius lay face-down on the hospital bed, breath shallow, his voice trembling beneath the pain.
"Mom… Mom… the people… they saw me," he whispered. "A lot of them. They saw what I did."
Lyriana stepped closer, her presence calming the storm around him. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, her voice low, steady, and absolute.
"Don't worry, Val," she said. "I'll handle everything."
Her tone left no room for doubt.
The lead trauma surgeon stepped back, removing his gloves. He was pale, sweating under the bright lights.
"Every instrument we've tried—nothing penetrates the dermis," he said, looking at Lyriana. "Even our strongest surgical tools. It's like trying to cut reinforced rubber."
Lyriana didn't blink. "Then stop trying."
"But the bullets," the surgeon said, gesturing. "They're lodged halfway in. One is pressing against the lower scapula—we need to remove them before the tissue builds around them. But we can't sedate him. We can't operate. We can't even clean the wounds properly."
A junior doctor stepped closer, eyes flicking between the lodged bullets and the tray of tools.
"C-Can't we just… pull them out?" he asked. "They're right there."
The senior surgeon turned to him slowly, voice low but firm.
"We tried."
He walked over to the tray, lifted a pair of forceps bent out of shape, and held it up for the room to see.
"They won't come out. Not with anything we have. The tissue around the wounds is dense—like steel. Every time we grip, the metal slips. It's like his body is… resisting."
Another nurse added quietly, "Even the scalpel wouldn't cut him. It bent."
Another doctor, older, approached cautiously. "Ma'am… may I ask—what exactly is his condition?"
Lyriana's emerald eyes met his.
"You wouldn't understand," she said.
The surgeon exhaled through his nose, frustrated but trying to stay respectful. "If there's something unique about his physiology… anything that could help us treat him, we need to know."
"He doesn't need your scalpels," Lyriana said. "Just time."
A silence followed.
One of the residents whispered, "You mean he'll heal… on his own?"
Lyriana turned her gaze toward the bullets still sticking out from her son's back.
"Leave the bullets in for now. His body will reject them soon enough."
"That's not how—" the surgeon began, but caught himself. He looked again at Valerius—the bleeding had stopped.
He said, "This isn't medicine. This is something else."
Lyriana's tone darkened.
"Then stop treating him like a human patient."
The doctors looked at one another, unsure what to do next.
Another voice—young, uncertain—spoke from the back. "Should we… monitor him overnight? Keep him for observation?"
Lyriana exhaled slowly, the weight of the room pressing in on her. She looked up from her son, her voice calm—but absolute.
"Look at me. All of you."
The doctors paused, tools in hand. One by one, they raised their heads, eyes locking with hers.
Her gaze was sharp, luminous, impossible to look away from.
"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OF WHAT YOU'VE SEEN HERE TODAY. NOT TO THE PRESS. NOT TO YOUR FAMILIES. NOT TO ANYONE. EVER."
Silence.
Then the senior doctor nodded first—firm, shaken.
"Yes, ma'am."
The others followed.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Understood."
"Of course."
Lyriana said nothing more. She simply turned back to Valerius, and the air itself seemed to settle.
The order had been given.
And none of them would nor could, dare defy it.
---
Elsewhere…
Daniel gripped the wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road as the city lights blurred past. The car was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the sound of Ziraiah's breathing from the backseat.
"Is he going to die?" she asked softly.
Daniel didn't respond.
Ziraiah leaned forward between the seats, her small hands clutching the leather. "You didn't answer me."
His jaw clenched. "No," he said at last. "No, he's not."
But the way he pressed down on the accelerator said otherwise.
---
Outside the Hospital…
The emergency entrance was still buzzing. Lights flashed red and white. Paramedics barked orders. Police were taping off the area near the flipped car down the block.
Then a blur streaked past the front gate—barefoot, fast.
A young boy—no, not just a boy.
Eryndor.
His hair streamed behind him, face pale with urgency. He moved faster than any child should, faster than most vehicles. Not a blur to the eye, but close.
People turned.
A nurse screamed. "What—? Is that… another one?!"
Another nurse peered around her. "The other one was way bigger, though…"
Eryndor skidded to a stop in front of the hospital doors. Sweat dripped from his brow. His chest heaved.
Two security guards stepped forward, blocking the entrance.
"Whoa, whoa—slow down, kid. What's going on?"
Two security guards stepped forward, blocking the entrance.
"Whoa, whoa—slow down, kid. What's going on?"
Eryndor looked down at them, eyes incisive and unwavering. His towering frame cast a long shadow over the pair—he stood nearly eight feet tall, a presence impossible to ignore.
"My brother was recently admitted," he said, voice composed and resonant, "he suffered a ballistic injury. His name is Valerius Delindor."
The guards exchanged a quick glance, instinctively straightening beneath his gaze.
One of them cleared his throat. "Uh… right. Sorry. You just—weren't what we were expecting."
One of the guards exchanged a glance with the nurse at the reception.
"Valerius… Delindor?" she echoed, typing quickly.
"You're family?" asked the second guard.
"I am his elder brother," Eryndor said, his tone poised and lucid. "Kindly escort me to him—without delay."
The nurse checked the logs. "He's already in Trauma Room 3. Brought in with gunshot wounds to the back. No ID, but… we got the name after the mother came in."
"The big one?" one guard whispered.
The nurse nodded slowly.
The first guard stepped aside. "Alright. You're clear. This way."
Eryndor nodded once and followed, barefoot on tile, heart pounding with every step.
Eryndor rounded the corner into Trauma Room 3 and froze.
Valerius was still laying on his belly on the hospital bed, his back swathed in layers of gauze and medical padding. He looked calm—too calm for someone who had been shot three times.
Beside him, Lyriana stood tall and composed—utterly unshaken, as if the sight of her wounded son posed no threat to her certainty, no crack in her poise.
Eryndor stepped forward swiftly and, without hesitation, knelt beside the bed and wrapped his arms around Valerius from the side—awkwardly, tightly, his cheek pressed against his brother's shoulder as Val lay on his stomach, still bandaged. Wordless. Fervent. As if he needed to feel for himself that Valerius was still alive.
"Imbecile," he muttered into his shoulder.
Valerius gave a soft chuckle. "Mom said I'll be ok."
Eryndor pulled back, his hands still on Valerius's arms. His eyes were sharp, his voice low and chiding. " You sustained ballistic trauma, Valerius. Actual bullets. Projectiles engineered to puncture steel."
Valerius turned his head lazily. "Thanks Mr obvious. They didn't really go in."
Lyriana's gaze flicked to the doorway just as Daniel and Ziraiah entered.
Their arrival was quiet. There were no words at first.
Just presence.
The family stood together, strange and sovereign—each one of them marked by the impossible.
Ziraiah broke the silence. She clambered up onto the edge of the hospital bed with a determined hop and clutched Valerius's arm like it was her lifeline.
"You're not allowed to die," she said firmly. "Ever."
Valerius smiled faintly, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere."
Ziraiah stood beside him. "Guess what?" she said. "The doctor said only half the bullet penetrated your skin, it couldn't penetrate your back. You've got some rock-solid back muscles, Val."
He blinked. "What do you mean? I don't have muscles."
"Course you do," she grinned. "They're just buried under the fat. You need to hit the gym."
Valerius said" i know only half did, I can feel it"
Valerius sighed. "I know only half did. I can feel them."
Eryndor, who had drifted to the far wall, leaned against it with aristocratic ease. Arms folded, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed in amusement.
With a slight smirk, he murmured:
"No gymnasium known to man could furnish the requisite weight to contend with the forging of Valerius's musculature."
A young female doctor across the room blinked twice. Her jaw dropped. "What did you just say?"
Lyriana's eyes narrowed slightly. "Eryndor…"
He bowed his head immediately. "Forgive me, Mother. A slip of the tongue."
Lyriana exhaled and bent down. Her shadow filled the room.
"Look at me," she said.
Every doctor, every nurse, paused. Their attention snapped to her like strings pulled taut.
"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OF WHAT YOU'VE 've SEEN HERE TODAY. NOR OF WHAT YOU'VE 've HEARD. NOT TO ANYONE. NOT EVER."
There was no argument. Just nods. Wide eyes. Silent obedience.
"Yes, ma'am," came the echo.
Then Eryndor knelt beside Valerius again, lowering his voice.
"How did this happen?"
Valerius's eyes dimmed. "Remember Carmen?"
"Of course."
"She… got into some rough business again."
Eryndor exhaled, resting his elbow against the edge of the bed. "Ah, Valerius… that girl is an unquestionably deleterious influence. I remain astonished Mother has yet to uncover her existence—though I suspect that particular secret is on the verge of unravelling."
His gaze drifted to the bandaging across Valerius's back. "I was well aware our bodies possessed uncommon resilience… but to discover you are nigh impervious to ballistics is another matter entirely."
Daniel stepped forward, silent until now. His face was unreadable, but his voice carried weight.
"Who did this to you?" he asked.
Valerius looked down. "I don't know. They didn't say a name."
The room fell into a quiet hush again—one filled with things unspoken.
Lyriana crossed her arms. Her expression was unreadable.
To be Continued...