Cleared to Leave

The door burst open. A crisp gust of sterilized air rushed in, carrying the scent of disinfectants and medicinal herbs. The rhythmic clatter of boots against the tiled floor echoed sharply, heralding the arrival of five healers draped in long, deep-green robes embroidered with golden filigree along their cuffs and hems. Their movements were swift, precise, and disciplined—a stark contrast to the heavy, sorrowful air that had weighed down the room moments before.

At the forefront of the group strode a woman who commanded attention with every step.

Dr. Elara Vensett.

Her presence alone was enough to silence a room.

She wore a pristine, tailored white lab coat—an unmistakable mark of her superior status among the healers. Unlike the green-robed subordinates behind her, Elara's coat had silver-threaded runes running along the sleeves, pulsating faintly with essence, a testament to her mastery of the healing arts. A small, polished badge gleamed at her collar, bearing the insignia of Vensett Medical, the town's premier—and only remaining—healing institution.

A woman in her late forties, Elara carried herself with the poised grace of someone who had built an empire from the ground up. Sharp, dark eyes framed by silver-rimmed glasses surveyed the room with meticulous precision. Her jet-black hair, streaked with strands of silver, was pulled into a strict bun, not a single strand out of place.

For years, she had been known for her cold, unsentimental approach to healing. She was not in the business of false hope or unnecessary sympathy—only results. Those who sought her aid knew one truth: if Dr. Elara declared a case hopeless, then there truly was no saving the patient.

Yet, as her gaze landed on Denwen, something in her expression flickered.

A crack in the unshakable wall of certainty she had built over decades of experience.

Still, her voice remained professional and firm as she spoke.

"Ma'am, I need you to step aside while we conduct a full scan on the boy."

It wasn't a request—it was an order.

Racheal hesitated for only a second, reluctant to let go of her son, but a gentle squeeze on her shoulder from Varek made her step back. She leaned in, brushing a trembling hand through Denwen's damp hair before whispering, "It's okay, my boy. Everything's going to be alright."

Nicole, who had been clinging to Denwen's arm, buried her tear-streaked face into Racheal's embrace, muffling her quiet sobs as she was pulled away.

The room fell into a tense silence.

Two of the green-robed healers stepped forward, taking their positions—one at the head of the bed, the other at Denwen's feet. With a synchronized motion, they extended their hands over him, their fingers trembling slightly as they channeled their mana.

A luminous white film pulsed into existence, spreading across Denwen's body like a thin, rippling veil of light.

Fwoom.

The air grew heavy with energy as the diagnostic spell activated, humming softly like a beating heart. The white glow wavered for a moment before stabilizing, forming a protective cocoon around him.

Then, Elara moved.

She approached with the slow, deliberate steps of a predator assessing its prey. Raising a gloved hand, she placed it gently on the glowing film.

The second her fingers made contact—

Her pupils dilated.

A low, barely audible hum vibrated through her body, and a sudden surge of violet energy coursed through her irises. Her pupils shifted, glowing softly with an ethereal purple light.

Her subordinates exchanged uneasy glances. They had never seen her react this way before.

Seconds stretched into eternity as Dr. Elara analyzed every aspect of Denwen's body, her expression an unreadable mask of shock and intrigue.

Finally—

She stepped back, inhaling sharply, her grip on her glasses tightening as if grounding herself from what she had just witnessed.

"Hah... Interesting."

The word slipped from her lips, not with detached professionalism, but with something else. Something dangerously close to genuine astonishment.

Her subordinates stiffened.

Dr. Elara Vensett did not get surprised.

Ever.

For years, she had treated warriors and hunters on the brink of death, patched up adventurers who had fought against nightmares beyond human comprehension, and performed surgeries so delicate that a single mistake could mean an instant, agonizing demise.

And yet—this boy had made her falter.

She turned to Racheal, her voice dropping slightly, but the sharp edge of authority never faded.

"Your boy is completely fine. Completely recovered."

Silence.

Everyone stared at her, waiting for the inevitable 'but.' Waiting for the reasoning, the explanation.

It never came.

Denwen lay there, breathing steadily, as if he had never even been on the brink of death.

As if the trauma, the damage, the near-fatal ordeal had never happened at all.

Elara's brows furrowed, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something more, but for the first time in a long while—she didn't have an answer.

Finally, she exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose before muttering, "Miraculous."

She turned briskly, her lab coat billowing slightly as she made her way toward the exit.

"Discharge him. He has no reason to stay in my hospital."

Roy, still trying to process what just happened, blinked before quickly stepping forward.

"Doc, does that mean we can take him home today?"

Without stopping, Elara waved a dismissive hand.

"Yes. And don't forget to settle my payment."

She exited the room as quickly as she had arrived, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor with unwavering confidence, as though she had already decided not to waste another second pondering the impossible.

Not even to speak with the parents.

—

A heavy sigh filled the room as the tension bled away.

Roy let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding before shaking his head, a small chuckle escaping him. "Man, she really doesn't care about anything except results, huh?"

Varek, still trying to process everything, turned to Roy, his voice laced with deep, unshakable gratitude.

"Roy, thank you." His throat tightened slightly. "Without your help, I don't know what we would have done."

Racheal stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with emotion as she and Varek both made to bow.

"Truly, we owe you more than we can ever repay—"

But Roy moved before they could.

He caught them both by the shoulders, straightening them up before they could even attempt such a thing. His voice was firm but warm.

"Come on, pops. Don't say that." He smiled, shaking his head. "He's my brother. And you guys are my family. There was never a question. This is nothing compared to his life."

The words settled over the room like a comforting embrace.

Denwen, still lying in bed, listened quietly, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

He was alive.

But as he clenched his fists beneath the sheets, he couldn't shake the lingering chill in his bones.