CHAPTER 60: SUNFISH

  Suryel blinked.

  Once.

  Then twice.

  But the ceiling did not sharpen.

  It drifted instead.

  Pale.

  Curved.

  Slow.

  Sliding across her vision like something that belonged to a body of water rather than architecture.

  The motion carried no urgency, no weight, as though it were unconcerned with her awareness of it.

  Like something afloat.

  Rather than fixed.

  The realization arrived without panic at first.

  Just confusion.

  The gentle but wrong kind, the sort that pressed against the back of her thoughts instead of announcing itself outright.

  As though she had been unmoored from gravity and set adrift, released into a medium that did not care where up was supposed to be.

  The ceiling did not loom.

  Did not press.

  It hovered.

  Patient.

  Waiting for her to decide.

  Her chest tightened before her mind could catch up.

  A sharp knot of panic cinched around her ribs, instinctive and uninvited, like a bodily memory flaring without permission.

  Her breath stuttered.

  She tried to find her bearing, shifting her awareness inward, reaching for familiar anchors.

  But the surroundings remained a question.

  Vague.

  Unfamiliar.

  No. Not again, she thought, the words forming sharp and immediate before she could stop them.

  “What is this place?” Suryel murmured, the sound slipping out sluggish and distorted.

  Her tongue thickened around the syllable as though it had to push through resistance to escape her mouth.

  “Where am I?” She asked, the question following a beat too late.

  The words arrived stretched.

  Warped.

  They echoed strangely, bending around an invisible surface before drifting back to her ears, resounding thinner than they should have.

  That did not seem right.

  Her thoughts stumbled over themselves, reaching and failing to grasp something solid.

  Her fingers twitched, a nervous reflex, and her hands lifted on their own before she consciously decided to move them.

  The warm liquid yielded.

  Not splashing.

  Not resisting.

  It parted around her fingers like it recognized her shape, clinging uneasily to her skin with a softness that felt intimate in all the wrong ways.

  Her lungs hitched mid-breath.

  Not water.

  Not air.

  But something terrifyingly familiar.

  Her chest seized as panic surged sharper now, spilling into motion.

  She fumbled with her hands, kicked uselessly against the liquid and the wall beyond it.

  As if she could force her body and mind to remember their own rules through sheer will.

  Rules that were no longer being enforced.

  “Hello?” Suryel called, her voice uneven.

  Delayed.

  “Hello? Anyone?” The sound echoed through the medium, warped and stretched, before leaving her alone with the reverberation of her own fear.

  She pushed harder, muscles tensing in protest as instinct screamed for escape.

  Until she remembered to take a breath—

  The pause felt unnatural, forced, like holding still in the middle of a fall.

  It was as if the Infirmary had been waiting for that moment.

  Waiting for her to quiet.

  So it could answer.

  Not loudly.

  Not dramatically.

  Low, layered hums filtered through the glass.

  Attendants murmured confirmations and inquiries to one another beyond her sight.

  Healers shared diagnostics in calm, clipped cadence, voices steady and practiced.

  Something metallic clicked, humming softly against wood somewhere nearby.

  Sigils chimed in the background like quiet replies, a system acknowledging itself and continuing without concern for her panic.

  Footsteps passed beyond her vision, measured and purposeful.

  Public.

  Busy.

  Alive.

  She tried to take a deeper breath.

  The air beyond the tank smelled clean.

  Minerals.

  Aether under control.

  Her palm slapped against the glass, instinctive and desperate, the sound sharper than she expected.

  The surface was solid.

  Steady.

  Cold.

  She kept her hands pressed to it, shifting her weight forward as if proximity alone could anchor her.

  The sensation worked like a tether.

  Her breath shuddered into something closer to calm.

  Still loud within her ears, absurdly loud, but no longer staggered or racing.

  She rested her forehead against the curve of the tank, letting the contact steady her.

  Only her eyes moved, tracking the careful approach of motion at the edge of her vision.

  The form blurred at first.

  Then the figure knelt beside the tank.

  The silhouette resolved slowly.

  Straight-backed even at rest.

  Stillness that was not passive, but contained, deliberate.

  Recognition sharpened through the haze clinging to her thoughts.

  “Suryel.”

  Her name landed clear and immediate.

  It cut cleanly through the panic like a blade through fog.

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  “You’re safe.” Raphael said.

  His voice was calm.

  Even.

  Unshaken.

  It did not rush her or alarm her.

  Her breath caught.

  Relief flooded her chest, settling so fast it felt like time stilled, before blooming hot behind her ears.

  “Raphael?” She whispered, fragile and embarrassingly small, the words slipped through her mind before she could think of any better.

  He sighed softly and stepped closer, one hand braced flat against the glass, fingers splayed as if steadying not just the tank but the space around it.

  His other hand lifted, tapping a small control rune.

  The fog on the glass peeled away in smooth layers.

  The Infirmary bloomed into view.

  Then sharpened into clarity.

  Light fractured cleanly through tall, familiar windows etched with stabilizing sigils.

  Warmth traced the curved ceilings from the outside, beams shimmering as though they were aware of themselves and delighted in their own purpose.

  She recognized the wing.

  One of the inner sections.

  Healers moved through the space in disciplined flow, robes shifting with purpose rather than haste.

  Attendants carried trays between stations and marked recovery logs along the periphery, murmuring softly to one another.

  As if gravity remembered to call her name, her toes twitched.

  She glanced down, noting the healing arrays glowing faintly beneath the liquid, their rhythm steady and patient.

  She reached toward Raphael’s other hand hovering just above the surface and pressed her palm to the barrier where his rested.

  “There you are,” Raphael said quietly, his tone grounding and unyielding in its calm. “Breathe. It’s safe.”

  He patted the glass once near her hand, firm reassurance rather than gentleness, before drawing his hand back. “And please keep your body within the tank at all times.”

  Her pulse slowed.

  Still loud in her ears.

  But no longer frantic.

  She tried to sit up.

  Her body refused.

  Not with pain.

  Not with paralysis.

  Just refusal.

  As though gravity had filed a formal complaint, decided it was done for the day, and stepped aside.

  Leaving her suspended in the looping space where rules were waived.

  Her legs drifted upward, knees bobbing toward the surface, buoyed by a tide she had not summoned.

  “I’m not… standing,” Suryel muttered, blinking hard. “But I’m also not drowning.”

  She pressed her fingers into her cheek, testing sensation. “Which narrows this down to something deeply inconvenient.”

  The sensation lagged behind her intent, muted, distant, echoing.

  Raphael’s eyes tracked her vitals, attention split cleanly between her words and the subtle recalibration happening beneath the surface.

  He noted the minute tremors of adaptation, his expression softening by a fraction.

  “Do not fight recovery.” He said evenly.

  Then added, eyes flicking pointedly toward her limbs, “Or attempt to start another… running incident.”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” She replied faintly, squinting at him. “Did you say buoyancy?”

  “Yes.” He moved back to a nearby table, lifting a small vial of aether shimmering with controlled light.

  Turning, he returned to the tank and poured it carefully into the medium as he spoke. “The solution is calibrated to you. Recovery requires precision.”

  “That is…” She said carefully, watching the light disperse around her. “Cool. But it doesn’t sound comforting.”

  “It is not meant to be.” Raphael did not miss a beat. “Recovery is meant to be handled with decisive accuracy. Ruthless excision stitched with precision.”

  She turned her head slightly, watching sunlight filter through the sigils high along the walls, warmth sinking through the liquid and into her skin.

  “Is it supposed to be this warm?” Her thoughts escaped aloud.

  “Yes,” Raphael answered. “Thermal consistency reduces neurological stress.”

  Her throat tightened.

  Relief tangled with panic.

  With guilt.

  With the metallic taste that always accompanied fear.

  “So,” Suryel said finally, grasping humor like a lifeline, “Am I dead? Dying? Because this feels like a very polite yet medically aggressive afterlife.”

  “If you were dead,” Raphael replied, reading and sorting vials back at the table, “I would not be this busy.”

  She huffed weakly. “Okay. Rude, but fair.”

  She let her arms float outward, fingers flexing as the medium held her effortlessly.

  “I can’t feel where I stop,” She admitted. “Everything’s blurred. Like I’m leaking.”

  “Expected.” Raphael said with a single nod. “Your nervous system is relearning its boundaries.”

  She exhaled slowly, letting the tank cradle her.

  “At least you didn’t connive to seal my memories again.” She joked softly.

  Raphael’s eyes darkened.

  Too soon.

  “So this is medical?” She backtracked quickly.

  “Yes.”

  “Not a punishment.”

  “No…” His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “And if it were, it would involve far fewer minerals and far more lectures.”

  She smiled faintly.

  Her gaze drifted past him as a thought surfaced.

  What had she missed.

  What had happened after the Tree.

  “YAEL?” She called, her voice breaking loudly against the top of the tank.

  Movement answered immediately.

  Yael abandoned the careful pacing he’d been doing in the adjacent wing, responding not to the name but to her voice.

  “You’re awake.” He stopped short of the tank, movements measured, one shoulder still braced in a sling.

  Relief broke clean through his composure, blooming into a warm smile. “I thought you’d need more time sleeping through recovery, so I was giving Raphael space.”

  “I know,” She said softly. “I was scared we wouldn’t make it through the causeway.”

  She drifted, tipping upside down before correcting herself with an exaggerated grin. “But hey. We’re fine. Right, Raph?”

  She pointed, and Yael turned.

  Now there were two sets of eyes on Raphael.

  Raphael sighed, eyes scanning reports as he compared notes. “Pulse stabilized hours ago—”

  “No, skip.” She interrupted gently. “I was hoping you’d just tell him I’m okay.”

  She attempted a confident flip.

  Panic nudged at her ribs, but she pushed through it. “See? Moving just fine. I’m just disoriented. Floating. Confused. Slightly offended by physics. But completely fine.”

  “Okay, that tracks.” Yael said, tapping the glass as if he was wondering if she knew what the tank was for.

  Nevertheless, his sunlight-soft certainty grounded her more than anything else.

  Silence settled.

  Calm.

  Comfortable.

  Almost reverent—

  It did not last.

  Footsteps approached.

  Fast.

  Brisk.

  Unapologetic.

  “Well!” Helel announced.

  Bursting into the space like the doors had personally insulted him. “If it isn’t our favorite domain hauler, awake!”

  “Do not shout!” Suryel splashed reflexively, as if trying to cancel out ripples that bumped through the glass. “The water reacts weirdly!”

  Helel winced, then leaned against the tank with a grin. “You look like a very determined sunfish.”

  “I am not a sunfish!” She tried to splash him through the top of the tank.

  Helel laughed, dodging and dragging Yael into position like a shield.

  “You know, I still have one arm I could use to pulverize you.” Yael said, wearing the expression of every sibling who had ever regretted being born younger.

  Raphael coughed deliberately.

  Silence snapped back into place.

  “A dignified sunfish,” Helel amended quickly, straightening as Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Medical-grade.”

  Gabriel passed behind them, tablet in hand, murmuring logistics under his breath. “Hydration stable. Density holding. Nutrient introduction delayed.”

  “Can I have something cold and sweet?” Suryel asked, mischief sparked by boredom. “Liquids that sparkle.”

  Raphael paused, looking up from his work. “You are not cleared for solid food.”

  “I did specifically ask for liquids,” She grinned.

  Helel supplemented chaos with a cough. “Carbonation. Sparkly.”

  The pause stretched.

  Raphael’s brow twitched before he said at last. “I will tell Logistics. It will be minimal and assisted.”

  “The two… idiots are syncing.” Yael smiled faintly, sending an internal steady back-pat toward the older brother, quiet camaraderie among the sane siblings.

  Suryel giggled, quickly joined by Helel’s loud, unrepentant snickers.

  He performed a strange little dance, beckoning Yael to join.

  Yael made a beeline for the door instead, already thinking: Nope. I’m out.

  Suryel bobbed to the top of the tank, triumphant. “Thanks, Raph!”

  “Do not spill it.” Raphael sighed, already moving to check on his other patients and passing the note to Gabriel in passing.

  Azriel arrived without announcement, studying the room as if sensing the air itself.

  “She’s awake.” He said to Michael, who had just entered. “And already arguing.”

  “I hear.” Michael replied calmly, watching Raphael simmer in a clinical mood.

  Gabriel joined them mid-conversation, noting down the approved request.

  “Raphael’s note said we’re watching her acclimate for the next hour before revisiting snack negotiations. You might want to keep out of that wing for now.”

  For the first time—

  Suryel stopped fighting the water.

  The Eternal Realm exhaled.

  Author Note:

  Behind the scenes update→

  Helel threw in fish flakes crackers to the Recovery tank.

  Now he is on the run from Raphael’s medical fury.