Chapter 42 – The First Step of Hope
The happiness people overlook most easily is the kind hidden in actions that seem effortless.
If, when you're young, you can run and jump—and when you're old, you can still use the bathroom on your own—then you're already better off than over a billion people.
"Let's begin," Ethan said after finishing the examination and glancing at the time.
"Mr. White, we'll proceed as before, but this time I'll lengthen the pauses between each stage."
Walter nodded and lay down on the treatment table.
Ethan placed his hands on Walter's shoulders, neck, and chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing.
Golden light slowly gathered in his palms—denser and steadier than ever before.
It no longer flickered faintly, but resembled the first light of dawn: soft, continuous, and flowing outward in a calm, unwavering stream. It was as if Ethan were holding a fragment of morning itself.
The light seeped gradually into Walter's skin and tissue. Each wave carried a sense of tangible weight, as though vitality itself were being laid gently into place.
Ethan slowed his movements, maintaining a measured, even rhythm.
He watched Walter's heart rate, breathing, and subtle facial changes with intense focus, and one thing was clear—
The holy light within him had grown significantly stronger. Without restraint, it could already exert a physical impact on Walter's body.
As the energy continued to pour in, visible changes appeared.
The initial tension melted away. Walter's chest expanded naturally, his breathing deepening into a steady, unforced rhythm.
The holy light seemed to awaken something long dormant within him—not only in his lungs, but throughout his body. Even his skin took on a healthy, pale pink hue he hadn't seen in years.
Ethan deliberately stretched the process across the entire morning.
Most importantly—
For a full two hours, there was not a single whisper from the Void.
When the treatment ended, Walter moved his arms and stared at his hands in disbelief.
"My God… I feel like I've gotten ten years younger."
Ethan checked the readings on the instruments.
The results were astonishing. It wasn't just the lung tumor that had improved—on some level, it felt as though the process of aging itself had been partially reversed.
That wasn't right.
In the cosmology of Azeroth, aging was considered a natural, orderly progression of life. The Holy Light existed to preserve life—not to turn back its clock.
And yet—
Something here was clearly different.
He thought about it for a moment and quickly arrived at an explanation.
An overwhelming infusion of holy light could push a person's vitality to extraordinary levels—so high that cellular activity surged, creating the outward illusion of "reverse aging."
But it wasn't true rejuvenation.
It was more like elevating someone's life state and holding it at its peak, rather than actually turning back the clock.
"It's just a return to where your body should be," Ethan explained to Walter.
If I could really reverse aging, why would I run a clinic?
I'd open a beauty salon instead—and probably figure out immortality while I was at it.
He kept that thought firmly to himself.
---
Afternoon
Sunlight slanted through the clinic windows, bathing the room in a warm, tranquil glow.
Walter Jr. sat down nervously, his legs tensing without conscious control.
Walter Sr. stood nearby, looking calm on the surface—but the slight tremor in his fingers betrayed his anxiety.
"Relax," Ethan said as he sat across from the boy. "What you're about to feel may be… unusual. There might be something like growing pains."
He paused, then added gently:
"We're not fixing stiff muscles. We're fixing the brain that gives them orders."
The boy nodded, still gripping his cane tightly.
Ethan raised both hands and held them just above either side of the boy's head. He murmured a short prayer, and a small, warm sphere of golden light slipped silently from his palms and sank into the boy's forehead.
Prayer of Healing.
"What was that?" Walter Jr. asked as a strange warmth began to spiral slowly through his mind.
"A small packet of healing energy," Ethan said. "It looks for what needs repair. In your case, the problem isn't your body—it's the connection between your brain and your muscles."
Strictly speaking, Prayer of Healing wasn't really a spell. It functioned more like a sustained healing buff. Without guidance, it would normally jump from one injured person to another after completing its task.
But under Ethan's precise control, it stayed exactly where he wanted it—inside Walter Jr..
The beauty of this technique was that if the body wasn't injured, the energy would lie dormant, like a patient sentinel.
The moment damage or functional failure appeared, it would mobilize the body's vitality to repair it.
And if injury already existed—it would leap into action immediately, repairing in rhythmic pulses.
Under Ethan's careful guidance, the golden light became a focused internal messenger, moving methodically through the boy's body.
The first pulse flickered deep within the brain, gently illuminating dormant motor-control regions.
Then it flowed downward along the neural pathways, pausing briefly at the spinal cord to clear the main signal routes.
It continued on, pulsing softly around the knees, loosening stiff ligaments.
Each pulse was deliberate. Precise. Awakening.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Ethan's forehead. Guiding the process required total concentration—any deviation could send the energy off course.
Half an hour later, the golden light slowly faded. Ethan lowered his hands.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Walter Jr. stared down at his legs, stunned.
The constant sensation of heaviness—of being dragged by his own body—had loosened.
"It… it jumped around inside me," the boy said quietly. "I feel like… my legs are listening better now."
Ethan helped him stand.
The movement was clumsy, but the knees bent more naturally. His center of gravity no longer pitched forward.
He took a step. His foot touched the ground without that heavy slap, and the inward turn of his legs was noticeably reduced.
"This is only the first session," Ethan said. "Your body now remembers a repair pattern. What comes next is reinforcement."
He looked the boy in the eyes.
"And for you, the most important part is rehabilitation. Neural pathways and muscle memory need repetition."
A genuine light appeared in Walter Jr.'s eyes for the first time.
Feeling the lingering warmth inside him, he began to believe—truly—that he might not be trapped in his body forever.
"I'll work hard," he said.
Ethan had him sit again and tested his reflexes and muscle tone.
"Very good. The improvement is obvious," Ethan nodded. "You can start trying short periods without the cane."
"…I can really walk without it?" the boy asked, barely daring to believe it.
"Try."
After a moment's hesitation, Walter Jr. set the cane aside and pushed himself up.
His knees were still stiff at first—but quickly adjusted.
He took two careful steps. Unsteady, yes—but his balance held. He didn't look like he was about to fall at any second.
"Good," Ethan said. "Your first step is a success."
---
Afterward
When the treatment concluded, Walter White left a check for $100,000.
"This is all I can manage right now," he said. "The next time I come to New York, I'll bring the rest."
"That's fine," Ethan replied.
Judging by appearances, Mr. White's "side business" seemed to be thriving.
As for whether he'd continue down that road once he was fully healed—
That wasn't Ethan's problem.