Chapter 42 – The First Step of Hope
The easiest kind of happiness to overlook is the kind that seems effortless—like running, jumping, or simply walking to the bathroom on your own.
If you're still young enough to sprint and leap, and when you're old you can still use the toilet unaided, you've already outpaced a billion people.
"Let's begin." Ethan finished his examination, glanced at the clock, and said, "Mr. White, you first—same routine as before, but this time I'll extend the duration."
Walter nodded and lay back on the examination table.
Ethan pressed a hand to the man's neck, shoulder, and chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath.
Golden light pooled slowly between his palms, denser and steadier than ever before.
No longer a faint flicker, it resembled the first rays of dawn—soft, continuous, flowing outward in perfect calm, as though Ethan's hands cradled a miniature sunrise.
The glow seeped through Walter's skin and muscle, each pulse landing with an almost tangible weight.
Ethan slowed his movements, keeping the rhythm steady.
He watched the subtle shifts in Walter's heartbeat, breathing, and expression; one thing was clear—
the Holy Light within him had grown so powerful that, unchecked, it could jolt Walter's system like a defibrillator shock.
As the energy poured in, visible changes swept across Walter's frame.
The initial tension melted away; his ribcage expanded naturally, breaths deepening into a calm, even rhythm.
The Light seemed to rouse dormant vitality—not just in his lungs, but across his skin, which flushed with a healthy pink long since forgotten.
All morning Ethan kept the pace painstakingly slow.
Best of all—through two full hours, no whisper from the Void had surfaced in his mind.
When the session ended, Walter flexed an arm, disbelief written across his face: "Jesus Christ… I feel ten years younger."
Ethan checked the monitors; the results were better than expected—almost as if, on top of shrinking the lung tumor, the process had reversed some of aging's wear and tear.
That shouldn't happen; in Azeroth's cosmology, aging is a natural, orderly progression. The Holy Light preserves life—it doesn't rewind the clock.
A moment's thought gave him the answer: a powerful infusion of Light could make a person's life-force burn so brightly that cellular activity surged, producing an appearance of "reverse-aging."
But it was more like elevating the body to—and holding it at—its peak condition, not truly turning back time.
"You've simply returned to where you should be," he told Walter.
If I could actually de-age people, why run a clinic? I'd open a med spa in Beverly Hills—and maybe hand out immortality while I'm at it, Ethan mused.
Afternoon sunlight slanted through the clinic windows, casting a warm, quiet glow across the room.
Walter Jr. sat rigid, legs taut with nerves.
His father stood nearby, outwardly calm, but trembling fingers betrayed him.
"Relax," Ethan said, taking the seat opposite the teenager. "What comes next will feel strange—like growing pains.
We're not fixing stiff muscles; we're fixing the brain that commands them."
The teenager nodded, knuckles white around his crutch.
Ethan positioned his hands on either side of the boy's head, murmured a short prayer, and a soft golden orb blossomed from his palms, slipping silently into the teen's forehead—
Prayer of Mending…
"W-what's that?" Walter Jr. felt a warm current drifting through his mind.
"A packet of healing energy," Ethan explained. "It'll search for what needs repair. In your case, the wiring between brain and body has gone haywire."
Technically the Prayer wasn't a spell but a rolling heal-over-time effect; left unguided it would bounce from one injured person to another.
Under Ethan's precise control, however, it would stay anchored to the boy.
If the body bore no injury, the energy would lurk like a patient sentinel,
ready to mobilize every ounce of vitality the moment harm or malfunction appeared.
And if damage existed—it would leap into a burst of mending, almost like a heartbeat beneath the skin.
Guided by Ethan, the golden sphere became a dedicated internal courier.
It toured the boy's body in orderly circuits.
First pulse: a gentle spark deep in the brain, lighting dormant motor neurons.
Second: it slid along the spinal highway, pausing to clear the neural pathways.
Third: it dipped to the knees, softening rigid ligaments.
Each pulse was a precise awakening.
Sweat beaded on Ethan's forehead; steering the flow demanded absolute focus to keep it on track.
Half an hour later the glow faded; Ethan slowly lowered his hands.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Walter Jr. stared down at his legs, stunned.
The constant heaviness, the dragging sensation, had loosened.
"It… it p-pulsed inside me a few times," he whispered. "My legs feel… lighter."
Ethan helped him stand—awkward at first, but the knees bent naturally and the boy no longer pitched forward.
He took a step; the foot landed quietly, the inward twist markedly reduced.
"This was only round one," Ethan said. "The pathway is open; now we reinforce it.
What matters next is physical therapy—neural pathways and muscle memory need repetition."
For the first time, real hope sparked in the boy's eyes. Feeling the lingering warmth, he believed he might not be imprisoned in his own body forever.
"I'll w-work hard."
Ethan had him sit again, testing knee reflexes and muscle tone: "Excellent improvement. You can try ditching the crutch."
"I can walk without it now?" the teen asked, incredulous.
"Give it a shot."
He hesitated, set the crutch aside, and pushed to his feet—
the knees stiff for a heartbeat, then adjusting.
He took two slow steps; wobbly, but no longer pitched forward or on the verge of collapse.
"Good. First step accomplished," Ethan said.
When the session ended, Walter White pulled out his checkbook and wrote one for a hundred thousand dollars.
"This is what I have on me. Next time I'm in New York, I'll bring the rest."
"No problem."
Looks like Mr. White's little "pharmaceutical venture" is paying off nicely.
Whether he keeps at it after he's cured… that's none of Ethan's concern.
[Milestone: 500 Power Stones = +1 Chapter]
[Milestone: 10 Reviews = +1 Chapter]
Enjoyed this chapter? Leave a review.
20+advanced chapters on P1treon Soulforger