Celix's POV:
The pale ceiling above him blurred and sharpened with each blink. A dull ache pulsed in his head, but it wasn't enough to drown the noise of his thoughts. Celix stirred slightly, his body sore, yet restless. His voice came out hoarse as he asked, almost to himself, "Ren? Where is he?"
The question pulled Maxim's attention. He had been sitting beside the bed, watching silently. "You're awake," he said softly, his voice holding a mixture of relief and caution. "Ren stepped out for a bit. Probably grabbing coffee."
Celix leaned back, his brows furrowed, eyes clouded. "I don't remember anything from yesterday," he muttered, more confused than concerned.
Maxim leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "That's okay. Forget yesterday. The important thing is you're alive. That's more than enough for me right now."
From the other corner of the room, Ren having just returned nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right," he said quietly, but with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
There was a beat of silence before Maxim gently placed a reassuring hand on Celix's shoulder. His tone shifted, serious but kind. "Celix… I know things are messed up. I can't imagine what you're feeling, but how long are you going to keep being this stubborn? Just because of what your uncle said?"
The words hit harder than Maxim expected. As soon as he mentioned Celix's uncle, a flicker of something dark crossed Celix's face. His jaw tightened. Without a word, Celix threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the bed. His body protested, still weak, but his anger numbed the pain.
"I'm done lying here," he muttered, about to get up.
Just then, the door creaked open and a nurse walked in carrying a tray. Her timing was unfortunate.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked gently but firmly, walking over to the bedside. "You need rest. Your body hasn't fully recovered. I've brought you some breakfast soup, fruits, and juice. You need to eat before you take your medication."
Celix didn't even look at the tray. "No need," he replied, his voice low and cold. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Maxim interjected, standing up. "Celix, what are you doing? The nurse is right. After what happened yesterday, you need to rest. Where are you even trying to go?"
But Celix didn't answer. His fists clenched, shoulders tense. There was a storm brewing inside him, and Maxim could tell this wasn't just about being tired of the hospital bed. It was deeper.
Before anyone could say anything else, the door opened again.
A tall man in a dark coat stepped inside, his presence commanding, but his eyes soft with concern.
Mr. Claton Magnas.
"Celix," he said, his voice laced with genuine worry. "How are you now? And where are you going in this condition?"
The moment Celix laid eyes on him, the air in the room shifted. It was as if all the anger he had been holding back suddenly found its target. His face went rigid, and his breath grew shallow.
Maxim sensed the tension and instinctively stepped between them, but Celix brushed past him and faced his father squarely.
"Maxim," Celix said tightly, without breaking eye contact with Claton, "tell him. Tell him that when he never cared to look for me or my mother when he left us like we didn't exist he has no right to show up now pretending to care."
His words cut through the room like a blade.
The nurse froze in place, unsure whether to speak. Ren shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught off guard by the weight of what had just been revealed. And Claton… the color drained slightly from his face.
"Celix…" Claton began, but the apology didn't come. Perhaps he didn't have one that could undo years of silence.
Celix didn't wait for a reply.
He turned away, his footsteps heavy, and walked straight out of the room, leaving behind a silence so thick it seemed to crush the air from their lungs.
Sure! Here's a properly written and emotionally resonant version of the chapter from Celix's point of view, expanded to around 1200 words:
There's an odd kind of silence that fills the world when someone you love most is gone. It's not just the absence of their voice or presence it's the silence within yourself. That's what I've been living in since my mother passed away.
She was the only person who ever truly cared for me. Now that she's gone, I feel like I'm floating in a world that's entirely empty, like I've been cut loose from whatever fragile string was holding me together. I'm not sure how to describe the hollowness, but it gnaws at me constantly.
My father? I don't even consider him family.
I've hated him for as long as I can remember. It wasn't something that happened all at once. It was a slow, painful realization that began in my childhood. I watched him belittle my mother, ignore her pain, and treat her like she was invisible. Their marriage was nothing more than an arrangement two strangers bound together by tradition, not love. I never saw a shred of kindness in his eyes for her. He never smiled at her, never asked if she was okay, never even noticed the tears she wiped away quietly when she thought no one was looking.
I saw everything.
And what made it worse was that he treated me the same way. As if I didn't exist, as if I was just another obligation he never signed up for. He never played with me, never helped me with school, never celebrated a single birthday. I don't remember him ever calling me "son." He wasn't a father just a man living under the same roof, who only spoke when he needed to bark out an order or criticize.
But my mother… she was different. Gentle, kind, loving, even when she was hurting inside. She always managed to smile for me, even when her eyes were tired from crying the night before. She was my whole world. And in her final days, she gave me everything she could her warmth, her love, and even the last of her strength.