The door opened with a quiet click, and the doctor in charge stepped in. His expression was a mix of relief and clinical caution, the kind of look reserved for patients who defied expectation but were still, technically, under observation.
"Good afternoon," he said, offering a professional nod. "Zachary, I'm Dr. Harrow. How are you feeling?"
Zachary's gaze flickered toward him, calm and measured, weighing the man in the same way he might have studied any other variable in his vast mental archive.
"Functionally stable. I think..." Zachary said at last, voice steady, carrying just the faintest edge of humor—subtle enough that the doctor could sense it but not fully understand it.
The doctor glanced at the monitors, nodded, and made some quick notations before leaving, promising to check in again soon. The room fell quiet again, save for the faint hum of machines and the steady rhythm of Zachary's own controlled breathing.
Less than an hour later, two figures approached the bed. A man and a woman, the unmistakable posture and careful hesitation of parents who had been carrying years of anxiety and hope. Their eyes widened when they saw him.
Zachary felt the weight of it. Not just the recognition of their faces, but the awareness of his position in this life. These were his parents—his family.
He paused, taking a subtle moment to adjust his mind. To be this child, this boy who had just awakened, who had spent five years suspended between sleep and life, whose body was still fragile in comparison to the immensity of his knowledge. He could feel the eons lurking beneath the surface, the wisdom that could overwhelm any conversation, but he tempered it. He would be Zachary in this life. Their son.
He allowed a small, careful smile. It was meant to reassure, meant to bridge the gap between the child they remembered.
"Hello, Mom. Dad." he said softly.
His parents blinked, their hands clenching instinctively as if to hold onto the proof that he was real. Their son. Their child who had been gone for so long, now awake.
Amanda Kent didn't wait. She dashed forward, tears spilling down her cheeks, and wrapped Zachary in a tight, almost desperate embrace. Her arms squeezed him as if holding him could erase the five lost years, as if the very act of touch could re-anchor him in the life they had feared slipping away.
Zachary allowed it. He didn't stiffen or pull back. Instead, he returned the gesture gently, his arms sliding around her with measured care, not overwhelming but grounding. His body was human, fragile in its own way, and he matched the warmth she offered without hesitation.
She pressed her face to his shoulder, sobs muffled against him, and for a moment the room was filled only with the sound of her grief and relief.
Zachary's eyes shifted just enough to meet his father's, Neil Bohrson, who stood a few steps behind. The look he shared was quiet but precise—a subtle communication that needed no words. Understanding, reassurance, acknowledgment: he was awake now.
The weight of immortality and eons of knowledge pressed invisibly behind his calm gaze, but he kept it contained and concealed perfectly.
Neil exhaled slowly, letting the tension leave his shoulders in a single, trembling breath, and stepped closer, placing a tentative hand on Zachary's other shoulder. The three of them formed a fragile triangle of reunion: a mother's relief, a father's cautious awe, and a son who had finally returned, fully himself yet tempered by everything he had ever lived.
Zachary allowed the moment to linger, savoring the emotions.
After a few moments, the energy in the room settled into a comfortable calm. Zachary finally turned his attention to his father, his voice calm, measured,
"I want to go home," he said simply.
Neil's eyes softened immediately. It was a natural response—of course their child would want to leave the hospital after five years of being trapped in a bed. Relief and understanding washed over him. "Of course, son," he said gently, reaching out to squeeze Zachary's shoulder.
But experience tempered instinct. He glanced at Amanda, then back at Zachary, the practical voice of responsibility surfacing. "We'll need to check with Dr. Harrow first," Neil added. "Just to make sure it's safe."
Amanda nodded, her hands still holding Zachary's, the earlier chirping now softened into a quiet, attentive smile. "Of course, doctor first. But then… then we'll take you home, baby."
Zachary inclined his head slightly, accepting the procedural pause without protest.
....
Neil and Amanda followed the doctor into a small consultation room down the hall. Dr. Harrow had already reviewed Zachary's charts, and his expression balanced relief with professional caution.
"Zachary is medically stable," Dr. Harrow began, "and cognitively, he's exceptional for someone coming out of a five-year coma. That said, we can't just discharge him immediately."
He gestured to a series of charts and notes. "Because he's been bedridden for half a decade, there are several things we need to assess first: muscle strength, joint mobility, cardiovascular conditioning, and basic daily functions. There's also a high probability he'll need a structured rehabilitation program once he's home. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, possibly even some cognitive retraining to help his body catch up to his mind."
Amanda nodded, her hands folded tightly in front of her. Neil leaned back slightly, processing the information.
"Given that," Dr. Harrow continued, "the earliest he could realistically leave is in about three days, assuming all preliminary checks go well and he responds positively to early rehab exercises. Any sooner would be unsafe, and any longer is unnecessary if progress is steady."
Zachary's parents exchanged a glance. Neil's voice was calm but firm: "Three days is reasonable. We just want to make sure he's ready and safe."
Amanda's smile returned, a little brighter now.
Dr. Harrow clear his throat before broaching the subject that most parents found awkward but unavoidable.
"There's also the matter of medical expenses," he said carefully, flipping through a folder. "Given the level of care Zachary has required—ICU monitoring, long-term nursing, specialized equipment, and ongoing therapy—the costs are substantial. We'll need to prepare the billing, of course."
Neil Bohrson waved a hand dismissively, a small, amused smile on his face. "Doctor, let's not bother with the lecture. Zachary's care isn't an issue. I understand the costs, and they won't be a problem."
Amanda let out a small laugh, the tension breaking further. "Yes, doctor, you don't need to worry about that. We're just focused on him—getting him home safely."
Dr. Harrow nodded, slightly relieved, and returned to discussing the logistics of Zachary's upcoming checkups and rehabilitation plan. The financial aspect, though significant in most cases, was entirely irrelevant here—Neil's success and resources ensured that Zachary's well-being could be prioritized above all else, leaving only the practical and medical considerations to navigate.
Zachary leaned back slightly on the hospital bed, the quiet of the VIP ward offering him the perfect canvas for experimentation. For the first time, he allowed his thoughts to wander into the deeper questions that had been hovering since his awakening: the reality of his memories, the limits of his body, the latent potential that had survived centuries and eons in another existence.
Could he… still use his powers?
He considered it carefully. His body was weak, muscles atrophied from five years of immobility. Any forceful or complex abilities would fail spectacularly. But there was one power he could summon without strain. One ability that demanded not strength, not energy, not preparation—only knowledge and wisdom. Two commodities he possessed in overflowing abundance.
A small smile touched his lips. It was almost humorous to think that centuries of existence and countless civilizations could be tested on a human child's frail body. Yet here he was, undeterred.
Under his breath, he murmured the phrase, precise and deliberate:
"Code Reveal."
Instantly, a holographic interface bloomed in the recesses of his mind. Unlike physical reality, it didn't occupy space in the room—only in his consciousness. Three panels emerged, glowing faintly with information that felt tactile despite being purely mental: Physique, Mind, and Soul.
This, he knew, was the Life Code—the visible expression of his current existence, the first and simplest branch of a far greater whole known as the Existence Code. The Life Code could be accessed safely, with no energy cost, no fatigue, no risk. It was an interface between the raw truths of reality and the self he inhabited, a way to confirm that all the memories, knowledge, and wisdom he carried were not dreams, illusions, or exaggerations.
He examined the panels carefully. The Physique section reflected his current fragile human body, all the minor atrophy and limitations, precise down to individual muscle fibers and neural connections.
The Mind section was richer, complex beyond ordinary human comprehension: neural patterns, memory integration, intellectual capacity, and the metadata of his second-life experiences all neatly encoded.
The Soul section shimmered faintly, less tangible, more abstract—the echo of every choice, every awareness, every thread of consciousness that had survived across lifetimes.
A soft chuckle escaped him. The interface confirmed what he already suspected: the memories weren't dreams. Every calculation, every observation, every experience had left a mark, integrated fully into the architecture of his being. He had lived it all.
Zachary's fingers twitched in a reflexive motion, not to touch, but as if acknowledging the presence of something he could command at will. A child's body, yes—but a mind and soul tempered by eternity. And now, a tool to verify it.
So it is real, he thought. All of it.
With the Life Code confirming the truth of his experiences, Zachary allowed himself to lean back against the hospital pillows, a quiet relief settling over him. The tension that had lingered since his awakening eased. He wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't suffering from some fractured identity disorder. The memories, the knowledge, the wisdom—they were real, fully integrated, and undeniably his.
Yet the interface before him reminded him of a crucial fact: being able to view the Life Code was not the same as being able to alter it. Each section—physique, mind, soul—was like a blueprint, a reflection of his current self, but not something he could manipulate impulsively. That level of control would require more time, more preparation, and a proper understanding of his current limitations.
He exhaled slowly, letting the quiet hum of the VIP ward fill the spaces between his thoughts.
Not here, he decided. The hospital, with its constant staff, monitors, and procedural obligations, was not the right environment for this kind of self-assessment. He needed privacy.
Somewhere he could stretch, move, and think without interruptions or curious eyes.
In a few days, after the checkups and preliminary therapy were complete, he would return to his own space with his parents. There, he could truly assess his situation, explore the Life Code, and begin to understand the scope of what he could do.
By the time the sunlight had shifted higher in the sky, the digital clock on the wall blinked 12:07 PM. Almost half an hour had passed since Neil and Amanda had followed Dr. Harrow to the consultation room, leaving Zachary alone in the VIP ward to observe, think, and quietly recalibrate.
The door opened again, and the familiar figures of his parents stepped back into the room, their expressions a mix of relief, pride, and gentle authority. They approached the bed together, Amanda still carrying the faint echo of her earlier exuberance, Neil composed but visibly satisfied.
"We've spoken with Dr. Harrow," Neil said, his voice calm and steady. "Everything is set. He's agreed that with proper checkups and monitoring, you can leave the hospital in three days at the latest."
Amanda added, her cheerful tone laced with warmth, "Yes, baby, just a little longer. We'll help you with the rehab exercises the doctor mentioned, but then… home. Finally home."
Zachary nodded slowly, absorbing the words. The relief that had been simmering in his parents' expressions was evident.
And while he felt no impatience himself, the knowledge that the wait was finite and that he would soon return to his own space brought a quiet, almost imperceptible sense of anticipation.
Neil glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "We'll make sure everything's ready for you until you're cleared to go."
Amanda's hand brushed lightly against Zachary's, a reassuring, grounding gesture.
With all arrangements confirmed, Neil and Amanda prepared to leave the hospital, the soft hum of the VIP ward returning to its usual quiet in their absence.
Neil's phone buzzed just as he reached the door. His secretary's voice came through promptly, crisp and businesslike, reminding him of meetings and urgent decisions that required his immediate attention. He gave a quick nod, excusing himself, before following the call's instructions.
Amanda lingered for a moment longer, reluctant to leave. The thought of leaving Zachary—even for a few hours—tightened her chest. Her jewelry store chain demanded her presence back at the office, but her eyes kept drifting back to him, filled with both worry and lingering affection.
Finally, with a soft sigh, she approached the door. She paused, glanced over her shoulder, and then closed it behind her with deliberate care. Her cheeks were puffed into a subtle pout, a silent protest against the necessity of leaving her son behind, even temporarily.