Three days passed in a blur of sterile light and the rhythmic, mechanical humming of life-support systems.
To the world outside the hospital suite, seventy-two hours was enough time for a minor political scandal to fade or for a hunter to clear a mid-level dungeon.
To Lucian Thorne, it was a blink of an eye in a century of exhaustion.
He did not wake. He did not eat. He did not respond to the pinpricks of needles or the bright lights shone into his pupils by increasingly frustrated doctors.
He lay as still as a marble effigy, his mind drifting through the fragmented archives of his ninety-nine previous lives. He was searching for the exit, the one door he had missed, but every time he reached for the latch of the void, the insistent, healthy thrum of his new heart pulled him back.
"He's doing it on purpose," a senior physician muttered in the hallway, his voice hushed but sharp with irritation. "His vitals are stabilizing. The alcohol is cleared from his system. There is no physiological reason for him to be unresponsive. He's just refusing to acknowledge us."
The doctor looked at a clipboard, then at the younger man standing beside him. Michael Thorne looked even more haggard than the patient. His eyes were bloodshot from late-night training sessions, and his patience had long since evaporated.
"Should we perform a mental resonance scan?" the doctor suggested tentatively. "If there's a blockage in his mana circuits or a psychological trauma from the accident..."
Michael let out a short, harsh laugh.
"A mental scan? My father told me explicitly that he won't waste another credit on 'psychological theater.' If Lucian wants to play dead, let him. He's been a drain on the Thorne treasury for Nineteen years. He isn't traumatized, he's just waiting for someone to beg him to get up."
Michael turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him. He didn't even look through the glass at his brother.
He simply walked away, leaving the medical team to deal with the most expensive and most stubborn piece of trash in the city.
In the staff lounge, the gossip was less refined.
"I heard he threw a bottle at a Duke's daughter right before the accident," one nurse whispered, stirring her coffee.
"They say he's only pretending to be asleep so he doesn't have to face the Hunter Association's disciplinary hearing."
"Well, I hope he stays asleep," another replied. "The last time he was here, he broke three monitors and bit a medical assistant. I'm not going in there until he's sedated with high-grade mana-suppressants."
Amidst the fear and the cynicism, there was Angelica.
She was a junior nurse with a habit of tripping over her own feet and a personality that was far too bright for the grim reality of the intensive care ward. She was the only one who didn't seem to care about the "Sleeping Tyrant's" reputation. To her, Lucian Thorne was just a patient who was remarkably easy to care for because he didn't move or scream.
On the morning of the fourth day, Angelica entered the suite with a fresh IV drip and a tray of basic nutrient supplements.
She hummed a low, tuneless melody as she worked, her movements practiced but slightly hurried.
"Good morning, Young Master Thorne," she chirped, though she didn't expect an answer.
"The sun is actually out today. It's a bit rare with the smog from the sector-four gate, but it's nice. My mother always says the sun is the best medicine, though I suppose you'd prefer a bottle of aged whiskey, wouldn't you?"
She laughed softly at her own joke as she swapped out the empty IV bag. She felt a strange sort of comfort in the room. Usually, the high-ranking patients were demanding, their arias of self-importance filling the air. But this room was quiet.
"You missed a bit of drama yesterday," she continued, checking the monitors. "I almost slipped behind the main counter. A tray of sedative vials nearly went flying. If I'd dropped them, the Head Nurse would have had my head on a platter. I'm quite lucky I'm so clumsy. I think I've developed a special kind of balance just to stay employed."
She leaned over to check the bandage on his hand where he had ripped the needle out three days prior.
"You're healing well," she whispered. "It's almost like your body is eager to be healthy, even if you aren't. It must be nice, having nothing to do but sleep. I haven't had a full eight hours since I started my residency."
She turned away to organize the discarded wrappings on her tray, still chatting about a new cafe that had opened near the Hunter Association headquarters.
"Anyway, the doctor says if you don't wake up today, they might have to—"
She stopped.
The air in the room had shifted. It wasn't a sudden noise or a movement that caught her attention, but a change in the very atmosphere. The stillness that had defined the suite for three days had been replaced by a heavy, grounding presence.
Angelica turned around, the tray trembling slightly in her hands.
Lucian Thorne was no longer lying down. He was seated upright, his back straight and his pale hands resting loosely on his lap. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the opposite wall, his gaze fixed on a point that didn't exist. His eyes, flecked with gold, were no longer cloudy. They were clear, deep, and utterly devoid of warmth.
The "trash" noble looked like a statue carved from ice.
"Young... Young Master?" Angelica stammered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Lucian slowly turned his head. His movement was fluid, lacking the jerky arrogance of the man he used to be. He looked at Angelica, and for a moment, the young nurse felt as though she were standing before an ancient, predatory entity that was merely wearing a human skin.
'How noisy,' Lucian thought, though his expression remained a perfect, empty mask.
He didn't scream. He didn't demand wine like this previous owner was.
He simply looked at her with a profound, weary curiosity, as if he were trying to remember what a human was supposed to be.
"Doctor!" Angelica suddenly cried out, her surprise finally breaking through her fear. She fumbled for the call button, her fingers shaking.
"Doctor! He's... he's awake! The patient is awake!"
As the sounds of running footsteps approached the room, Lucian Thorne did not flinch. He simply turned his gaze back to the window, watching the pale sunlight hit the glass.
The peace of the void had been denied to him once again, and now, he had to figure out how to navigate the noise of a hundredth life.