The drive to Barcelona's Central Hospital was a blur. Rania kept calling her relatives, her voice trembling with tears, while Rayden drove their old car at a steady but agile pace, weaving through the night traffic with cool focus. His silence contrasted sharply with Rania's panic, yet somehow, his composure felt like an anchor amidst his wife's storm of emotions.
They arrived in the sterile, tense ICU waiting room. Clarisa and her husband, Matteo Carrason, were already there. Clarisa's face was puffy with tears and anger.
"This is all your fault!" she hissed as soon as she saw Rayden, pointing with a trembling finger. "If only Rania had married the right man, a successful man, she wouldn't be stressed every day, and my mother wouldn't be constantly worrying about her grandson!"
"Clarisa, stop. It's not the time," Matteo said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Before Rayden could respond, a middle-aged doctor emerged from the ICU. His expression was serious.
"The Carrason family?"
Everyone immediately crowded around her. "How's my mother, Doctor? Please tell me there's hope," Clarisa asked anxiously.
The doctor sighed heavily. "We've done our best. There's an acute coronary artery blockage. Her heart is very weak. We've tried various measures, but the response is minimal. Honestly, right now we can only hope for a miracle. The family should prepare for the worst."
The verdict hit them like a sledgehammer. Rania sobbed and leaned against the wall, her body going limp. Clarisa let out a muffled cry.
That's when a dashing young man in a smart suit came rushing in. "Uncle, Auntie, Rania... I just got a message. What happened to Grandma?"
It was Polce Koa, the son of the Carrason family's business partner and a young doctor on the rise at the capital's most prestigious hospital. He was the man Clarisa had always hoped would be her son-in-law.
Polce quickly took control of the situation, speaking to the doctor using complicated medical terms. She reviewed the CT scan results on her tablet, and her face darkened.
"The doctor is right," she told the Carrasons with concern. "This is a very serious case. There's not much that can be done. Her condition is critical." She then turned to Rania, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. "Rania, I'm so sorry. All we can do now is pray."
Clarisa looked at Polce gratefully, then glanced at Rayden with pure hatred. Amidst the medical professionals, her husband stood silently in the corner, looking as useless as ever.
"Can I see Grandma?"
The question came from Rayden. His voice was low, but it rang clearly amidst the mourning atmosphere.
All eyes were on him. "What for?" Clarisa snapped. "Are you trying to mock her in her final moments? Get out of here! Don't add to the problem!"
"I just want to see her for a moment," Rayden repeated, his gaze now fixed on Rania.
Polce let out a low, dismissive laugh. "Friend, there's nothing you can do. Leave this to the experts. You'll only be a nuisance."
But Rania, in her despair, looked at her husband. She remembered his lightning-quick hand movements at the dining table. She remembered the sandalwood comb, crafted with such tenderness. For some reason, she nodded to the nurse. "Just a moment. Let her be."
Rayden entered the ICU, filled with the sound of machinery. Mrs. Carrason lay pale on the bed, wires and tubes wrapped around her fragile body. Rayden didn't look at the monitors or the flashing graphs. He simply stood beside the bed, staring at his grandmother's face.
He observed the faint bluish tint beneath her fingernails, noticed her shallow breathing, and smelled a strange, faint scent in the air—a scent undetectable to ordinary people. He touched the black metal necklace around her neck.
In an instant, Rayden was no longer the unemployed son-in-law who was thinking. Thousands of years of knowledge from Armon's ancestors came to life. Ancient medical texts, intricate diagrams of the human body's energy pathways, and records of diseases forgotten by modern times flashed through his mind. This was no ordinary blockage. It was a rare condition called Cold Energy Congealment, where the vital energy at the heart point solidifies due to years of emotional turmoil and poor diet, causing a physical blockage that modern medicine cannot break through.
Rayden exited the room with an equally calm expression.
He walked past Polce and Clarisa, stopping right in front of Rania, who was crying.
"I can heal her," he said.
A moment of silence followed, then Polce's sarcastic laughter broke. "What did you say? Cure him? You think you're a god of healing? The best specialists in this city have already given up!"
"You're crazy!" Clarisa screamed. "Rania, look at your husband! At a time like this, he's still hallucinating! Get him out of here right now!"
Rayden didn't budge. His eyes were fixed solely on his wife. "I need a set of silver needles and some herbs. I can stabilize his heart in an hour."
"Nonsense!" Polce sneered. "Acupuncture for an acute heart attack? You could kill him! That's malpractice! This isn't a game!"
Everyone stared at Rania, waiting for her to exorcise her insane husband. The pressure on her shoulders was overwhelming. On one side were logic, science, and the doctors. On the other, there was her strange husband, who had given her the most thoughtful gift she'd ever received, the one who could stop a bowl from falling without spilling a drop.
She stared into Rayden's eyes. Calm. Deep. Full of unwavering certainty. They weren't the eyes of a liar or a madman. In utter despair, a fragile seed of trust began to grow.
Rania straightened her back. She wiped away her tears, and with a voice stronger than she expected, she made a decision that shook everyone in the room.
"Let him try."