Helios slowly opened his eyes. Dizziness hit him like a blow, and instantly he felt sick. Everything around him blurred, distorted, spun in circles, and some things he even saw double. The sight was so overwhelming that he let his eyelids fall shut again. Darkness was more bearable than the chaos that had crashed over him when he tried to see. The visual impressions alone made him feel as if he might vomit right then and there.
"What the hell …" he rasped hoarsely.
He felt awful. Thoughts trickled sluggishly through his mind, like thick honey. Shouldn't he have recovered by now? What had even happened?
"Oh, you're awake!" someone said cheerfully.
Helios knew that voice all too well. It sent a shiver down his spine.
"Father …" he whispered, barely audible.
"You'll get a strong sedative. Don't overexert yourself." The voice sounded calm, almost affectionate, and yet there was a cool, calculating undertone in it that Helios recognized all too well.
He tried to focus on the outline of his father, but his vision kept blurring. Sometimes the voice sounded close, then distant again, as if it were reaching him through water. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Let … me go," he murmured with a broken voice that even sounded foreign to him.
"I'm afraid that's not possible, my boy," his father said with a regretful tone. Helios flinched as his father's hand suddenly stroked his cheek. "I can't let you go until you give me what I want. Besides, you're safe here."
Helios wanted to push him away, but his muscles refused to obey. With growing horror, he realized he was restrained. His arms and legs were bound tightly, his back pressed uncomfortably cold against metal. A shiver ran through him as he realized he was nearly naked. They had even taken his glasses. No wonder everything looked so blurred.
Stay calm, Helios, he urged himself.
He needed information.
"What are you planning?" he asked in as calm a voice as he could manage. His tongue felt heavy, the words forced their way past his lips with effort.
"Since you refuse to give me answers, I'll get them myself." His father's voice had taken on a conversational tone. His gaze seemed calculating. "Seriously, Helios, this could all be so much easier for you if you just cooperated."
So he was trying to break Helios, to make him hand over what he wanted willingly. Ha! He could wait forever.
"Screw you," Helios hissed. "You know my opinion on the matter."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then his father sighed almost tenderly, as if speaking to a stubborn child.
"Such a shame. I truly would have liked to spare you all this. But you leave me no choice but to use methods I never intended to."
His voice sank to a whisper that sent an icy shiver through Helios's body, despite his blurred perception.
"This is your last chance, Helios. Do you understand?"
Helios stared at his father. His stomach churned, and the sedative paralyzed him too much to even move. Even if he had wanted to, not a single finger twitched. The restraints were absurdly excessive. What did they even expect him to do?
Rise up in fury and tear out everyone's hearts with his bare hands?
If only he could do that.
But immortality had never granted him any special abilities.
He simply could no longer die. That was all.
He would rather have powers that made him strong. Powers that could get him out of here. But instead, he was at the mercy of whatever they intended to do with him.
Inside, he shielded himself against everything that was to come.
There was no way he would cooperate.
There was no way they would break him.
"If you think your bungling lackeys can get you a single useful piece of information, then by all means. Don't let me stop you," Helios replied with mocking scorn.
Whatever awaited him, he would endure it. He just had to hold out until Dante came to get him. By now, Dante must have realized that he was no longer at the estate. Dante would never leave him in his father's hands.
His father let out a disapproving sound.
"If you want to stay stubborn, so be it. You'll give in to me soon enough."
Keep dreaming, Helios thought, staring stubbornly at the bare ceiling above him.
"You damned stubborn fool!" his father snapped. There was so much frustration in those two words that a cold smile crept across Helios's lips. His father's anger alone was a small triumph.
"Dr. Brooks, have you discovered anything yet?"
"Unfortunately not, sir." The family doctor's voice sounded uncertain, almost nervous. "I compared his blood samples to the ones I already had. Nothing has changed."
"That can't be." His father's voice was razor-sharp. He sounded impatient. "Repeat the tests."
"A-at once!" Brooks stammered. He set the instruments clattering onto the metal table. He tied off Helios's vein and drew blood.
"His wound healing is unique," the doctor murmured reverently. "I've never seen anything like it. Honestly, I can hardly believe what you've told me, Mr. Vale."
Helios rolled his eyes inwardly. They were talking about him as if he were an object, a research specimen, not a human being. Still, he found it rather amusing that the doctor was stumbling in the dark just as he once had. Since he couldn't do anything anyway, he would at least enjoy the show of their desperation.
"On the way here, he died twice," Vale remarked coolly. "We had to keep sedating him. Apparently the doses were too high."
"Fascinating." Brooks's voice swelled with excitement, like that of a child with a new toy. "The constant dose seems to work better. His vital signs stabilize more quickly. I'll analyze the samples right away, it'll only take a moment."
"Do it properly this time," his father said coldly.
"O-of course, Mr. Vale!"
Shortly afterward, they were alone. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint drip of the IV and the hum of the machines.
"Where did these scars come from?" his father finally asked, his voice a little softer. "I don't recall a scar on your neck, nor the one on your chest, and certainly not the stab wounds on your abdomen."
"Leave me alone," Helios said quietly. "Spare me your false affection. As long as I'm alive and functioning, that's always been enough for you."
"I'm only worried about you!" his father exclaimed.
He was close, his breath still reeking of the wine he had drunk earlier. It wouldn't have surprised Helios if he was still drunk.
Helios gave a short, bitter laugh. "How could I possibly have missed the affection of a loving father who chains his son to a metal table in a laboratory?"
"I have no other choice, Helios. When will you finally understand that?" his father said softly. "Don't worry—once I have the formula for immortality, we'll bring your mother back. She's here too, you know? She'll be happy to see you."
Helios's heart clenched.
"She's down here?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Do you want to see her?" his father suddenly asked, full of joy. "Oh, but we should at least put something on you first. You shouldn't appear before your mother like this!"
"I don't want to see her." Helios spoke softly, almost pleading. "Please, stop…"
But his father didn't listen. With brisk movements, he loosened the restraints but kept the IV in place, still pumping the sedative into Helios's body. Then he carefully placed the glasses on Helios's face, as if it were an act of fatherly care. For a brief moment, his expression turned cold and calculating. A smile played around his lips.
"Unfortunately, we don't have time to dress you properly. You must be cold—how about a blanket? Seth will carry you! Oh Helios, I'm so glad you're going to see her again after all these years!"
"No! I don't want to see her! Go get your answers instead! Cut me open, do whatever you want, but don't take me to her!" Helios cried desperately.
Again, he was ignored. A sheet was wrapped around him, Seth swaddled him in it while Josh carried the IV.
"Don't take me there," Helios pleaded softly. "You must see how insane he is…!"
But the men stayed silent. He couldn't fight back. He wasn't as dazed as before, but every function of his body was still disabled. Helplessly, he tried to persuade his father's guards not to take him to his mother's corpse, but no matter what he said, it was useless. They followed his father's orders, not his.
Helplessness tightened his throat.
"I can't wait to hear Ophelia's laughter again. No woman in the world is as pure as she is. No laughter sounds as beautiful as hers… Do you remember how the two of you used to sneak fresh cake from the kitchen? The cook was always scolding you, afraid you wouldn't have room for dinner. You two always acted as if you'd pulled off the heist of the century. Those were truly beautiful times."
The further down the corridor they went, the sicker Helios felt. His stomach cramped painfully, and he wanted nothing more than to vomit. But even that was denied him. Everything in him recoiled at the thought of seeing his mother. He'd had nightmares about her often enough—usually whenever his father came to him because of her.
Perhaps the worst part of his current situation was that he could do absolutely nothing. Like a damned puppet, he was simply carried around. His father's personal guards didn't even look at him. They cloaked themselves in silence, ignoring everything Helios said.
Helios clenched his teeth and stopped speaking as well.
His father, however, filled the silence effortlessly. He chattered as if taking a stroll through the garden, told anecdotes, stirred up memories that only hurt Helios more deeply—words that stuck in him like splinters.
At last, they stopped in front of a door. His father held the keycard to the mechanism, and with a faint hum, the way opened.
Before entering, he turned to Helios. With an almost tender gesture, he stroked his cheek, his smile painfully wistful.
"Even though fourteen years have passed, Helios," he said softly, "she will recognize you. Don't worry."
A lump stuck in Helios's throat, hard as stone. No sound came out. Everything inside him screamed, but not a single word escaped his lips.
Then his father went in. Seth and Josh followed in silence.
Helios's heart was racing. His limbs felt as if they belonged to someone else—numb and heavy. Dizziness threatened to drag him into unconsciousness. How wonderful it would be to lose consciousness right now.
The room smelled of flowers, their fragrance heavy in the air. What met his eyes was surreal, far beyond anything he had imagined.
The sight before him was unreal. In the center of the room rose a massive pillar, surrounded by countless white lilies, standing like silent witnesses all around. A console blinked faintly beside it, next to a chair and a small table, all aligned toward the pillar as if it were some damned stage.
And in the pillar …
… in the liquid, dimly lit from within, she floated.
The corpse of his mother.
Helios's breath caught. His chest tightened, as though someone were reaching inside with icy hands to grasp his ribs. This was a damned tomb. And though the flowers did their best to mask it, Helios still smelled the faintly rotten water.
He didn't want to see this. His mother had been buried fourteen years ago. He had come to terms with it.
Never had he thought he would see her again—if at all, then only to lay her properly to rest. Helios did not want to watch his father touch the glass and tell her that her son had finally decided to visit.
Stubbornly, he fixed his gaze on the wall. He had only glimpsed her briefly, and that was how he intended to leave it. He felt a tear slide down his cheek. This wasn't real. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him, because of the sedative.
The sedative. It must be a hallucination. My mind is deceiving me. This isn't real.
"Sit him in the chair and wait outside." His father's voice now rang bright, full of anticipation. "Let's have a little family moment."
Seth and Josh obeyed without a word. Gently, they placed Helios in the chair and pushed him so that he was staring directly at the pillar.
So that he had to look at her.
"You can hardly recognize him, can you, Ophelia?" His father's voice was soft, almost tender, as he spoke. "Your little Helios is here. Look at him! He takes after you so much—he reminds me of you every single day."
Helios tore his gaze away from the corpse and tried to fix on anything that wasn't his mother. A pattern on the wall. A blinking light. Anything was better than the sight behind the glass.
But his father didn't allow it. He sat down on the armrest of Helios's chair, so close Helios could feel his breath, and turned his own gaze back to the pillar in the middle of the room.
"She's taken a bit of damage over the years," he murmured, almost regretfully. "But she's still as beautiful as she was on the day she died, don't you think?"
"She's dead." Helios's voice was barely audible. A tear, then another, slid down his cheek.
His mother's skin was gray and lifeless. In many places, it was stretched tight over her bones—especially across her chest. Above the collarbone, the skin had even split open, exposing bare bone. In truth, everything about her was skeletal. Whatever they had tried in those fourteen years to preserve her body, it hadn't truly worked.
She wore a white dress that drifted in the water like a ghost. Her long black hair floated around her like veils of shadow. Over her face was a carefully painted mask, almost identical to her features as Helios remembered them from the old portraits at the estate. It was a masterpiece.
At least he didn't have to look at her dead face. He was fairly certain he would never be rid of that image.
She was barefoot, so emaciated that every bone was visible. Seams crisscrossed her skin—rips that had been stitched together, as if death could be patched up like torn clothing. The sweet stench of decay grew stronger the longer he sat there.
Two tubes fed into the veins in her neck to keep her blood in motion. A third pumped a milky-white liquid into her body. Helios didn't know what it was—only that it was meaningless.
She was dead.
Nothing about this grotesque apparatus could change that.
"You're going to bring her back to life," his father said hopefully, his voice almost trembling. "If anyone can do it, it's you."
Helios swallowed hard. Not even if he wanted to—he could never accomplish that.
"Why don't you let her rest?" His voice was brittle, little more than a whisper. "She doesn't deserve this …"
He remembered her laughter. To him, his mother had always shone brighter than the sun. Even when she was unwell, she had fought, endured, carried him with her courage. She had been the strongest person he had ever known.
He had loved her more than anything.
His father laughed softly, lovingly, but the sound was warped, sick. "You created immortality, Helios. That means you can also find a way to bring your beautiful mother back."
"No …" Helios's voice trembled. "Nothing will ever bring her back."
"You can do it." His father's voice was firm again now, convinced, almost euphoric. "After all, you're a genius."
"Stop … stop clinging to this illusion …" Helios closed his eyes. "There's nothing I can do. Bury her at last. Give her the final honor."
But his father didn't answer. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Helios, pulling him close like a father trying to offer comfort. Together, they stared at the pillar.
For hours, they sat like that. His father basked in memories, told anecdotes, even laughed softly. Every attempt Helios made to persuade him to finally let his mother rest was ignored, suppressed, drowned out.
Eventually, Helios gave up.
When they strapped him back onto the metal table, his face was wet with the tears he had shed. In his ears, his father's words still echoed—like a curse without end.