While the world marveled at Arla-Rosa's skill, behind the scenes, new storms were brewing, some rooted in the past, others stirred by jealousy, and one driven purely by awe.The Mother’s Vigil......Lady Catherine Aldridge-Grace sat in her private lounge, the morning light refracted through cathedral windows gilded with the family crest. Amelia’s childhood portraits surrounded her, each one whispering memories she had buried under polished etiquette and pearls. Her hands trembled slightly as she wrapped them around a porcelain teacup. The broadcast played quietly on the massive screen, where Arla-Rosa’s calm, elegant hands hovered over Amelia’s frail form. Catherine had not believed. Not until yesterday, when her daughter, whose condition had defied the world’s most elite doctors, had brain activity, for the first time in a year, with color blooming back into her face.Now she dared to hope. And it terrified her. “She does not look like a su
There is no thunder before the rain. Only tension. And the knowledge that the world is about to change. The sun had not yet crested over the eastern hills of Country D when the first set of needles were removed.Arla-Rosa's hands moved in silence. She plucked each silver needle from Amelia Grace's body like a musician lifting strings from a harp. Her every motion, gentle, reverent, yet deliberate.Behind the observation glass, the Fleming twins sat wide-eyed in their custom-made chairs, swinging their legs and holding silent, pinky-locked fists. They did not know much about vegetative states or diplomatic scrutiny. But they knew their mama was magic. Inside the Command Center Feed at exactly 6:03 am, a neurologist monitoring Amelia’s vitals blinked twice. “Uh... does anyone see that?” “Spike in occipital and frontal lobe?”“Not just a spike. It’s sustained.” A beat of silence ensued, followed by a whisper of disbelief. “She’s dreaming.
The cameras were already live. Every major broadcasting station, from Zurich to Seoul, from Johannesburg to Montreal, had tuned in. Online platforms displayed countdowns. Streams flooded TwiTalk, MedLink, VoxView, and ParliamentCast. The world did not need war anymore. It needed a woman to do the impossible...Alone.At precisely 8 o'clock, in the morning, Fleming Estate Time, the reinforced medical doors slid open, revealing a quiet, polished space transformed into the world’s most-watched surgical suite. White walls. Three camera drones. A translucent screen projecting Amelia Grace’s vitals. And in the center… Arla-Rosa Hernandez. She wore no makeup. No lab coat. No mask of performance. Just a high-collared snow-white tunic, gloves, and calm.The live coverage had started and everyone was waiting eagerly. “She’s entering now.” “Where’s her team?”“There is no team. Didn’t you read the IMIC decree?”“She’s doing this entirely solo?”“Every second is being streamed. Every note recorde
The sun was setting slow and gold over the sprawling hills of the Fleming estate, bathing the marble arches in the soft hush of dusk. For once, there were no reporters at the gates. No bodyguards hovering close. No public broadcasts or emergency bulletins to dissect. Just a quiet evening. And one long-awaited reunion.Master Ye stood at the threshold of the estate’s main entrance, his white beard curling slightly from the breeze, and his travel cloak folded over one arm. He had declined every official escort, walked the final stretch from the helipad himself, and carried only a single wooden medicine box as luggage. The guards tried to bow but he waved them off like dust.Duke Fleming stepped forward first, bowing slightly in deference. “Master Ye. It’s an honor...” “Mm,” Master Ye grunted. “Where is the little rascal?” Before Duke could respond, a shout rang from the far hallway. “Old man!”Arla-Rosa came barrelling down the grand staircase in a flowing linen dress, barefoot, braid f
Just as the world heaved a collective sigh of relief, believing the tension had been eased, that diplomacy and compassion had triumphed, a new shockwave hit. And this time, it came not from a government, but from the highest medical authority on earth.It was supposed to be over. The Duke’s compromise had been accepted. Amelia Grace’s treatment was to proceed at the prestigious Fleming House of Hope in Country D. Commentators were beginning to speak of hope. Forums were settling. Some even dared to call it a “new era for global medicine.” But the peace was premature.At 06:48 GMT, the International Medical Society and Allied Ethics Board (IMSAEB) released an unanticipated emergency communique titled: “Conditions of Global Medical Transparency: The Arla-Rosa Accord.” It hit every feed, flashed across hospital terminals, splashed across government screens and news tickers in real time. Within the hour, the calm fractured like splintered glass.“In light of the extraordinary privileges a
Contrary to what everyone believed, the superpower… agreed. In less than twenty-four hours after Duke Fleming’s worldwide broadcast, a second official statement was released, this time directly from the superpower’s Ministry of Health and Welfare.“We accept the Duke of Country D’s proposal in the spirit of global collaboration and human compassion. The Honorable President thanks Duke Fleming for his clarity and offers his trust in Dr. Arla-Rosa Hernandez. Arrangements are now underway for Amelia Grace’s transfer to the House of Hope in Country D. The President’s only condition is, transparency. The public must witness every step. Not for entertainment, but for faith, in science, in diplomacy, and in shared healing.”The internet collapsed again, this time not from fury or scandal, but disbelief. They agreed? They are really sending her? She is actually going to do it. Wait… does this mean Arla-Rosa is real? Not a myth? Not a monster? And so began the countdown to what would become th