POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: Hearthome City

Hearthome Hospital is a large, marbled church whose architecture reflects the city's colonized past. Traces of Kalosian influence linger in the arched ceiling, the stained glass windows, the steeple where the bell resides, the confession box that had been converted into the cafeteria.

Following the directions of the nurses, I hurry down the polished white halls. A deep apprehension looms in the air, stirring in the dour orange slants of light. Could be the stench of death. Or the spectre of guilt.

As I run, I realize something: there is no fourth floor in the hospital. Like Cyrus had said. Back before the shitstorm began.

At last, I reach the designated room. Before I even touch the handle, my stomach cramps up. Like someone has socked me squarely in the gut.

N-No. You can do this, Cynthia. Like Jupiter said, things will be all right. She's an adult, after all.

Upon opening the door, I am greeted with a blast of strong antiseptic. Muted walls and muffled floors. Numerous machines whose tubes run to the bed in the corner beside the open windows, which overlooks a watery evening sky.

He looks so peaceful. Like he's sleeping, his hands clasped gently over his chest. Like this isn't a hospital room but a reclining chair in the upper floors of Canalave Library.

Next to the bed are red and yellow balloons. Fiery tulips and golden hyacinths. And something that looks like a robot in a maid outfit.

Before I can approach, a pair of rough, calloused hands shove me away.

"GET OUT!" Volkner roars.

Flint immediately pulls him back. "S-Sorry, Cynthia. He hasn't slept in days—"

"YOU KILLED HIM! FUCKING SMASHED HIS HEAD IN!"

His accusations sting like a slap across the face. Out of anger, I stand my ground by challenging his volume. "CHARON TRICKED ME! HE MADE OFF WITH THE TIME GEARS—"

"WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK ABOUT WHAT ISN'T REAL?! OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!" His voice then cracks abruptly. "Lucian is dead! Because of your careless actions!"

All I can muster out is a weak, "B-But it was an accident!"

A patient clearing of the throat halts our violent bickering. Behind Flint is the old professor, whose somber expression makes me choke on my spit.

"It is concerning that Charon made away with two Time Gears," he rumbles. "On my end, I've spread the word about the Planet's Paralysis as best as I could—"

Volkner smashes his fist against the wall, startling the machines. As his chest heaves, bloody veins pulsate in the whites of his eyeballs. His jacket is crumpled, his shirt hanging loosely over his belt, jeans worn inside out.

"Magical bullshit," he hisses. "Time Gears this, frozen time that. You expect me to believe something concocted out of zero empirical evidence? I don't know what's more surprising: Professor Rowan honestly buying into this hocus pocus shit or Cynthia honestly believing that Lucian's coma wasn't her fault. You both should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Volks!"

With a nasty growl, Volkner spins on his heel and storms out, pushing me aside as he does.

Meanwhile, Flint is on his knees, repeatedly bashing his forehead on the floor. "I-I am so sorry, Professor! It's never been this bad before. Lately, he's been so obsessed over something, yet he wouldn't tell me anything…"

Rowan calmly pats Flint's shoulder. "He's a troubled young man. Give him some space, and he'll come back."

Then his snowy moustache twitches. "Now, Cynthia. You came for Lucian, yes?"

Nodding numbly, I shuffle to his bedside. Heavy bandages wound over his eyes, his head, leaving only his nose and mouth as identifiers of the man who had helped me attain the Champion's throne. No longer brushing his shoulders, his wavy hair has been sheared above his temples for the tubes. Beneath the thin blanket, his chest shows the slightest, barely perceptible signs of rising.

Oh thank goodness. He's still alive.

"Not quite," says Rowan.

Just then, Jupiter and Looker appear in the doorway, the latter hobbling on crutches. It's as if they've been standing outside the whole time.

"He needed emergency brain surgery," Jupiter grunts, her gaze fixed to the colorful flowers. "Doctors aren't sure when he'll wake up from his coma."

Coma.

Flint absorbs the news by slumping back into his chair, palms nursing his head. "S-So he's brain dead? Lucian? Our Lucian?"

Then Looker glares at me. I flinch.

"I'll be blunt," he says. "Cynthia, Jane and I have decided that we need to reconsider your position as Champion. Your inability to control your aggression—"

Right away, blood surges to my nose. "What the hell are you implying, Looker? I acted out of necessity! If I didn't come down hard on Charon—"

"Then Lucian wouldn't be in a coma."

That shuts me up.

Looker struggles to pull out a manila folder from under his coat. "It has been brought to my attention, like many other things that happened without me knowing, that you crushed Cyrus's throat during an interrogation. Records indicate that he was admitted for laryngeal trauma, which was left untreated."

Flint looks up. "You what, Cynthia?"

Jupiter snatches the folder from Looker. As she flips through the pages, the blood drains from her cheeks, and she covers her gasp with a hand.

Looker grabs the folder back, closing it with a snap. With one last scowl in my direction, he limps out of the door.

Stunned silence returns to the hospital room. Rowan continues monitoring Lucian's ambiguous condition while Flint wordlessly flicks Volkner's listening bug off my coat.

Without knowing why, I fly out to the hallway, where the adults are talking in hushed whispers.

"Someone should've alerted me on Cyrus's deteriorating mental state," Looker is muttering. "While he doesn't pose a pressing threat against national security, we need to find him before he harms himself. Jane, put a bulletin out to the news stations effectively immediately."

"So those awful noises he was making…"

"What noises?"

Jupiter clears her throat loudly. "There's also Charon. On top of all this is the Planet's Paralysis that Rowan mentioned. Where do we even start?"

Then both heads turn my way.

"I-I want to help," I squeak.

"You've helped enough," Looker growls. "For now, you should reflect on what you've done." To Jupiter, he says, "Lucian was next in line for the Champion's title. However, that's now out of the question…"

"But Lucian will wake up soon!" I cry. "That's what Jupiter said!"

Jupiter won't look at me. Looker shakes his head.

"Not everyone can walk away from a Draco Meteor like Cyrus," he says. "If Lucian doesn't pull through, Cynthia, then his blood will be on your hands."