The morning sun spilled gently through the window, painting the walls in soft gold.
Ian opened his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, there was no weight in his chest. No ache in his limbs. No fog behind his eyes.
His body felt light—so light it almost startled him.
He sat up without effort. No dizziness. No trembling hands. His knees didn't creak. His legs held him steady, strong.
He stood. Then, just to test it, he took a step. Another. Then he was walking. Then jogging. Then—
Running.
Out the door. Down the gravel path. Past the garden, the orchard, the bend in the stream. He ran faster, laughing now, feeling the wind whip against his face like it used to when he was ten and didn't know what dying meant.
And still—no pain. No coughing. No tightness.
Just life.
"Mom!" he cried out, spinning in the air. "Dad! I can run!"
He turned back toward the house, sprinting, barefoot and beaming, hair wild with joy.
They were there.
Elina and James stood in the doorway, arms outstretched, smiling through their tears.
"Look at me!" Ian shouted. "Mom, see—I can run!"
He leapt into their arms.
James caught him in mid-air, and Elina wrapped her arms around them both, burying her face into Ian's shoulder.
They held him tightly, as though they could keep him like that forever.
But in the real world, Ian was asleep.
His breathing was shallow, his skin pale in the morning light. His chest barely rose beneath the quilt.
A single tear traced down Ian's cheek, as if his body remembered joy, too.
From his bed, his lips moved faintly. "Mom… Dad…"
His voice cracked in the silence, and it called the house to attention.
Elina was the first to reach him. She rushed to his side, eyes wide with alarm, heart pounding.
"Ian?" she whispered, bending low and gripping his hand tightly. "Yes, my baby. Mom is here."
James stepped in quietly, placing a trembling hand on Ian's forehead. He didn't speak, but something in his expression shattered—something quiet that had held strong too long.
Ian's body didn't respond, but his voice murmured through the dream.
"I love you, Mom… and Dad…"
Elina's tears began to fall. They traced down her cheeks and onto the back of Ian's hand, her grip tightening as if she could anchor him here, longer.
"Promise me…" Ian whispered in sleep. "Promise you'll never leave me."
The blanket slipped slightly from his shoulder—like the wind of his dream had brushed it aside.
Outside the room, footsteps gathered.
Alisha stood at the doorframe, arms folded tightly, her lower lip trembling. Behind her, Leon stood frozen, his hand gripping the door like it was the only thing holding him upright.
Noah had his arm around Mira's shoulder. Her eyes were already red. She didn't speak. She only watched.
Watched as Ian—beloved, worn, radiant Ian—drifted between the world he was letting go of and the one he had begun to run toward.
And in that quiet room, they all understood what this moment meant.
The time had come.