Chapter Fourteen: The Road Ahead
The day of the neurologist appointment arrived with a gray dawn, the sky heavy with unshed snow. Syan woke to Lila's nervous energy—her footsteps darting around the house, her voice muttering about socks and snacks for the trip. "You're gonna freeze if we don't bundle you up," she said, draping another blanket over his lap as she wheeled him to the door.
"Think I'll survive," he teased, though the cold already nipped at his fingers.
His parents arrived on time, the van's engine rumbling outside. His father lifted him into the back, grunting with the effort, while his mother secured the chair with straps. Lila climbed in beside him, her backpack stuffed with the dragon book and a half-burnt piece of toast "for luck." The drive was long, the road bumpy under the tires, but she filled the silence with chatter—school gossip, dragon battles, anything to keep the tension at bay.
The neurologist's office was a sterile blur of beeping machines and sharp antiseptic smells. Dr. Patel, a wiry man with a clipped voice, examined Syan with brisk efficiency—tapping reflexes that didn't respond, shining lights he couldn't see, asking about symptoms that had become his normal. Lila stayed close, her hand brushing his as Dr. Patel scribbled notes.
"It's advanced," the doctor said finally, his tone matter-of-fact. "Progressive degeneration, likely neuromuscular. No cure, but we can manage it—slow it down, maybe. Medication, physical therapy, better equipment. You've gone too long without proper care."
Syan nodded, the words sinking in. No cure. He'd known that, deep down, but hearing it still felt like a door closing. Lila squeezed his hand, her voice fierce. "Manage it how? What do we do?"
"Start with these," Dr. Patel said, handing over a stack of prescriptions. "Muscle relaxants, something for the pain. I'll coordinate with Dr. Ellis—get you a therapist, a better chair. It won't fix everything, but it'll help."
His parents stood in the corner, silent but listening. When they loaded back into the van, his mother's voice broke the quiet. "We'll get it all—the meds, the therapy. Whatever it takes."
Lila didn't reply, but Syan felt her relax beside him, just a fraction. The ride home was quieter, the weight of the day settling over them. No miracles, but a path forward—something they hadn't had before.
That night, Lila read from the book again, the dragon licking its wounds but still flying. "He's like you," she said, closing the pages. "Hurt, but not done."
"Maybe," Syan said, a faint smile tugging at him. "Guess we'll see how far I can fly."