The Forsaken Seal

An Unfamiliar Visitor

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the hospital room, its mechanical pulse steady and unchanging. The sterile air felt thick, pressing down on Layron like an invisible weight.

His body was exhausted, his mind restless.

The voices had faded.

But the unease had not.

The door creaked open.

Layron turned his head sluggishly, expecting Anya or a nurse. Instead, a tall figure stepped inside, his presence unfamiliar yet strangely… heavy.

The man was old—perhaps even older than Gramps. His silver hair was slicked back, and his sharp eyes studied Layron with quiet intensity. He moved with deliberate ease, as though he had long mastered the art of patience. A dark coat swept lightly behind him, carrying the lingering scent of cigar smoke.

Layron frowned. His gut twisted with suspicion.

This man wasn't just some visitor.

Gramps followed behind him, closing the door with a quiet click. His face was unreadable, but Layron could see it—the stiffness in his posture, the tension in his eyes.

Whoever this man was, Gramps wasn't at ease around him.

The stranger's gaze remained locked on Layron. Then, a slow, measured smile formed on his lips.

"Well now," he mused, his voice deep and smooth. "You must be the boy I've been hearing so much about."

Layron's muscles tensed. Hearing about?

His fingers curled slightly against the blanket. "Who are you?"

The man exhaled through his nose, as if amused by the directness.

Gramps spoke first. "His name is Victor Solvane. An old friend."

Victor's smile didn't falter. "A pleasure," he said lightly. "Though, I imagine you'd rather not be meeting me here, in a hospital bed."

Layron remained silent, watching him carefully.

Victor let out a soft chuckle. "Smart boy. You don't trust easily. That's good. It means you're thinking."

Layron narrowed his eyes. "If you know something about what's happening to me, then just say it."

Victor studied him for a long moment before chuckling again.

"If only things were that simple."

Gramps sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Victor, we're not here to overwhelm him."

Victor waved a dismissive hand. "Relax. I'm not here to scare the boy." His gaze flicked back to Layron. "I just wanted to see you with my own eyes. And… to tell you one thing."

Layron waited.

Victor leaned in slightly. His voice lowered.

"The things you're hearing? The things you're feeling?"

A small pause.

"They're real."

Layron's fingers tightened around the blanket.

"And they're only going to get stronger," Victor added, his tone almost casual, but his eyes sharp.

Layron's chest tightened.

Gramps said nothing.

Victor sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Look, kid. I get it. You want answers. But knowing too soon can be just as dangerous as not knowing at all."

Layron's voice was hoarse. "Why is everyone so afraid to just tell me?"

Victor smirked. "Because people fear what they don't understand. And right now?" He tapped a finger lightly against the hospital bed's frame. "You don't understand what's happening to you. Not yet."

Layron scowled. "Then make me understand."

Victor let out a dry laugh. "You're not the first to say that. And you won't be the last."

Layron's frustration burned, but before he could press further, Victor stood up, adjusting his coat. "We'll talk again soon."

Layron's jaw clenched. He hated this. He hated being left in the dark.

Victor turned to Gramps. "I'll be taking my leave. We'll talk later."

Then, without another word, he made his way to the door.

Layron's stomach twisted as he watched him go.

They knew something.

And they weren't telling him.

Again.

---

A Twist in the Hallway

The door clicked shut behind them.

The hospital hallway was dim, lit only by the cold glow of overhead fluorescents.

Victor took a slow step forward, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled. "He's already pushing back. It won't be long before he starts demanding real answers."

Gramps was silent for a moment. Then, he muttered, "I know."

Victor glanced at him. "And you still won't tell him?"

Gramps' jaw clenched. "Not yet."

Victor scoffed. "You're gambling, old friend."

Gramps didn't respond.

Victor pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his silver lighter. The small ember flared, casting flickering shadows across his face. He inhaled deeply before letting the smoke curl out from his lips.

"But even if you don't tell him," Victor murmured, "it won't matter."

Gramps frowned. "Why?"

Victor let the silence stretch before answering.

"Because the seal isn't just weakening anymore."

His voice darkened.

"It's already cracked."

Gramps went rigid.

Victor's cigarette burned lower. His next words were barely above a whisper.

"And you know what that means."

Gramps' breathing slowed.

His fingers curled against his palm. "...It means he's going to remember."

Victor nodded. "Yes. And when he does—"

He turned his gaze back toward the hospital room door.

"—he won't be the same person anymore."

A heavy silence pressed between them.

Gramps looked away. His expression was unreadable, but his fingers trembled slightly.

He had known this day would come.

He had prayed it wouldn't.

But fate didn't listen to the prayers of old men.

Victor flicked the ashes off his cigarette, his voice quiet but sharp.

"So tell me, old friend…"

He glanced sideways at Gramps.

"When that day comes—"

"Are you ready to do what needs to be done?"

Gramps didn't answer.

Because deep down—

He already knew.

And the answer was no.

---