The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice - Chapter 56

Chapter 56: A Fractured Reunion

Beep!-Beep!

The rhythmic beeping of hospital monitors and the hushed murmurs of medical personnel filled the pristine white hallways of Luthen Memorial Hospital, the most advanced medical facility and healers on the elven continent.

But suddenly—

VROOOOOM!

Outside, the quiet hum of hospital life shattered as a fleet of black armored SUVs and military-grade transport vehicles roared into the driveway, their high-speed engines growling before coming to a sudden, synchronized halt.

SCREEECH—THUD!

The heavy doors of the vehicles swung open, and in an instant, a full royal security detail poured out.

Heavily armed elven guards, clad in sleek, dark green uniforms, moved with mechanical precision, forming an impenetrable perimeter around the hospital entrance.

Their golden insignias gleamed under the bright afternoon sun, signifying their elite status.

A tense hush fell over the hospital staff.

Something was happening.

Inside the emergency wing, doctors and healers exchanged nervous glances.

The sudden intrusion sent a ripple of unease through the hallways, their usual calm routine shattered by the sheer force of presence approaching.

Then—

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The hospital’s reinforced glass doors burst open.

And he walked in.

King Elora El’leather.

The ruler of the Elven Dominion.

One of the strongest beings in the world.

He strode through the entrance with a presence that suffocated the air itself.

The moment he entered, it felt as if the temperature dropped, as if even the elements themselves bowed in submission to his existence.

His long silver hair, neatly tied back, contrasted against his deep emerald royal coat, the platinum embroidery woven into its fabric resembling the branches of an ancient world tree—a symbol of his dominion over the elves.

His emerald green eyes swept through the corridor.

Even without speaking, his presence alone commanded absolute authority.

Beside him, Queen Aeloria El’leather moved with silent urgency, her gown of deep green.

Her beauty was ethereal, like an untouchable goddess carved from moonlight, but her expression remained coldly composed—only her clenched fists betrayed her true emotions.

Trailing behind them, Princess Vynessa El’leather nearly ran to keep up, her normally graceful movements hurried, her youthful face contorted with barely restrained distress.

She was the first to break the silence.

“Where is my brother?!”

Her voice—sharp, urgent—cut through the tension like a blade.

A senior doctor, visibly startled, nearly stumbled over himself before rushing forward. His white coat swayed as he bowed slightly.

“P-Prince Zareth is in Room 306, Your Highness. He is receiving treatment. His vitals are stable.”

Aeloria exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

The King’s gaze remained unreadable.

His sharp, piercing eyes flickered toward the doctor, and with a deep, authoritative voice, he asked—

“And the boy?”

The doctor swallowed dryly.

He knew exactly who the King meant.

“The young man is in Room 307, Your Majesty. He is also receiving emergency treatment. His condition has stabilized, but he remains unconscious.”

For a long moment, silence stretched through the corridor.

Then—

The King gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Without another word, he strode forward, his presence parting the medical staff like waves before an unstoppable force.

The Queen followed, her hands clenching tighter.

Vynessa, breathing heavily, felt a storm of emotions flooding her chest.

Her brother was here.

He had been missing for days.

No, he had run away. But this was not made public that he ran away by himself.

And now—he was lying in a hospital bed, injured.

She didn’t know whether she wanted to cry, scream, or shake him awake and demand why he left them.

As the King and Queen reached Room 306.

Vynessa stopped just short of the door, sucking in a deep breath.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

Then—

The door to Room 306 was pushed open.

Beep!

The beeping of a heart monitor was the only sound — a rhythmic reminder that Zareth was alive.

Yet, as he lay there, his face pale, he looked fragile—too fragile for a boy who had spent the last month running from the very people now standing before him.

A hushed tension filled the space as the door opened, and the royal family entered.

The presence of King Elora El’Leather alone seemed to alter the very air.

His emerald-green eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned his son’s still form.

Queen Aeloria followed, her usual composed demeanor faltering for just a moment as she took in the sight of her child in a hospital bed, wires attached to his body.

Vynessa was the last to step inside.

Unlike her parents, she didn’t try to mask her emotions.

Her light purple (lavender) eyes shimmered with barely restrained anger, guilt, and something far more vulnerable.

For a few agonizing seconds, Zareth remained motionless.

Then—

A sharp inhale.

His eyelids fluttered.

His fingers twitched against the sheets.

A strained groan left his lips as his body fought against the weight of exhaustion.

Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes cracked open.

It took a moment for his vision to focus, for reality to settle in.

And when it did—his breath caught.

His family.

They were all here.

His father stood by the bed, his expression calm but watchful.

His mother, usually poised, looked as though she had been holding her breath for far too long.

And Vynessa—

His sister’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her fingers curling into fists.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Vynessa broke it.

“This is your fault,” she snapped, her voice trembling.

The raw accusation in her tone made Zareth flinch.

But before he could fully process it, Vynessa continued, her emotions spilling out.

“You ran away, Zareth! Do you even understand what you put us through? What you put mother through?” Vynesaa said.

“Vynessa—” Aeloria tried to interject.

“No,” Vynessa cut her off, shaking her head.

“He needs to hear this.” She turned back to her brother, her lavender eyes burning.

“You think you were the only one suffering? The only one who felt trapped?” Her voice wavered, frustration and grief colliding.

“Do you have any idea how it felt to wake up every day not knowing if you were dead or alive?”

Zareth’s throat tightened.

His body felt weak, sluggish—but her words struck deep.

A heavy silence followed.

Then—

“I…” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, forcing the words out. “I never wanted to—”

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted.” Vynessa’s voice was quieter now, but no less intense.

“You still left.”