Corrupted Bonds-Chapter 60: Lucian’s Despair and the Dream-State Reality

Rowan lay in the sterile quiet of the medbay, the hum of machines punctuating the silence.

The faint scent of antiseptic and cleaning chemicals hung in the air, mingling with the smell of plastic sheets and cool metal.

The dim overhead lights cast long shadows, and the room felt like a cage—too still, too empty.

His body was heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refused to rest. Lucian's absence pressed against him, a constant, suffocating weight. His eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling, as his thoughts swirled. The fear, the uncertainty, and the constant ache of not knowing how to pull Lucian back from the abyss.

Rowan closed his eyes, but sleep never came easy. The connection he had to Lucian felt like a distant echo, something barely tangible. He could still feel Lucian's presence, like a flicker of light, but it was fading. And Rowan feared it was only a matter of time before he lost him completely.

His breath hitched, and he rubbed his hand over his face. The dream had been too real last time. Too real. The feeling of Lucian slipping away, of losing the person who meant everything to him—it was unbearable.

"What if I'm already losing him?" Rowan thought, his chest tightening. "What if I've already lost him and I'm just too late to see it?"

A soft sigh escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered closed again. The silence of the medbay felt like a weight on him, suffocating.

But then, something shifted.

The world around Rowan shuddered. The ground beneath his feet cracked, jagged edges splitting open like broken glass, revealing fragments of twisted memories.

Buildings faded in and out of existence, towering structures that were both familiar and alien, as if the landscape was constantly warping between past and present.

The air was thick with the scent of static, sharp and metallic, like a storm was waiting to break. Electricity hummed in the air, making his hair stand on end. But it wasn't just the atmosphere—it was the feeling. A heavy, oppressive weight that felt like it was suffocating him, pressing in from all sides.

And there he was.

Lucian.

He stood just beyond the fractured space, his form flickering in and out of clarity like a ghost, something not fully real. His body was broken, fragmented. His face, though familiar, was distorted, flickering like a shadow of someone Rowan had known. His eyes glowed faintly violet, the light coming and going like a fading star.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Rowan's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. "Lucian?" His voice was a whisper, but it echoed through the shifting landscape, bouncing off the fractured reality. It felt like he was shouting across a chasm, the distance between them stretching too far to cross.

Lucian's head turned slowly, his gaze heavy, distant. His mouth opened, but his words came out broken, as if they had to fight their way through the veil of confusion that clouded his mind.

"Rowan..." Lucian's voice was fragile, trembling with something Rowan couldn't quite place. But it was there. The pain. The confusion.

Rowan took a step forward, his feet stumbling over the broken ground. He could feel Lucian, his presence, but it was so distant. He couldn't reach him.

"I... I'm here," Rowan's voice broke as he stepped closer, the need to connect surging through him. His hands trembled, fingers aching to touch Lucian, to feel his warmth. "Lucian, please... come back to me."

Lucian's body shifted, flickering like an image caught between static, his eyes swirling with confusion. "I... I don't know how much longer I can hold on," he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Rowan's heart tightened in his chest. He had heard this before—the desperate self-doubt that had plagued Lucian for so long. But hearing it now, seeing Lucian in this state, made it real. Too real.

"Lucian..." Rowan's voice was soft but urgent. "Please. Don't say that. I'm here. I'll bring you back."

But the dream warped again, reality splitting open, and Lucian's form became more distorted—more distant. His voice was barely a whisper as his gaze turned inward, lost in his own fractured mind.

"I can't... I can't be the same," Lucian's words hung in the air like ghosts, drifting into the distortion. "I'm not who I was. You can't keep waiting for me, Rowan. I'm... already gone."

Rowan's heart shattered as the words pierced through him.

Lucian was slipping away, even now. His tangible self, the Lucian who was once so full of life, was being swallowed up by the fractured dream.

Rowan's chest burned with the weight of his feelings, but there was something else—a gnawing desperation.

"No," Rowan's voice was a desperate plea as he reached for Lucian, his hands trembling. "I won't let you fade away. I won't give up on you. I won't lose you."

Rowan grabbed Lucian's wrist, pulling him closer, but his grip slipped—Lucian's body felt cold, slipping through his fingers like sand, as if he were never truly there. Lucian's figure flickered violently, disappearing into the void.

Lucian's Moment of Clarity

Just when Rowan thought it was over, everything paused.

The world around them, already fractured and distorted, came to an abrupt stillness.

The oppressive hum of the rift, the shifting shadows, the ever-present static—all of it vanished into a deep, suffocating silence. It was as though the very air had stopped breathing, leaving them alone in a space where time had ceased to exist.

For the briefest moment, the fractures in Lucian's form began to heal. His body solidified, the chaotic distortion of his presence fading as his form became whole again.

The violet glow in his eyes—once a sign of his corruption—dimmed, leaving behind the familiar depth Rowan had always known.

Rowan's breath caught in his chest. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. Lucian, real and present, was here—standing before him, his eyes meeting Rowan's with a raw, vulnerable intensity.

A surge of emotion flooded Rowan's chest, a mix of relief and longing. He was here. Finally.

"I still hear you." Lucian's voice was steady, but there was a softness to it, as though he was trying to find his footing, trying to make sense of the fractured pieces of his mind. His words carried a quiet pain, a rawness that made Rowan's heart ache.

Rowan didn't respond right away. He just stood there, frozen for a moment, feeling the warmth of Lucian's presence for the first time in what felt like forever. It was him, truly him, and yet... something was still missing. The bond was not yet whole.

"I'm still here," Lucian repeated, his voice cracking slightly, as though saying the words gave him some relief, but also reminded him of the pain that still clung to him. His hand reached out, shaking just slightly, but the movement was deliberate. His fingers brushed against Rowan's, and in that small gesture, everything shifted.

Rowan's pulse quickened, his body aching for connection. His hand reached out to meet Lucian's, trembling as their fingers intertwined. It was almost enough. He could feel the spark of their bond reigniting, something deep within him reaching back to the man he loved, but there was still tension in the air, a fear that it could all slip away at any moment. The touch was tender, but the fear of losing him again gnawed at Rowan's chest.

Lucian's hand was cold, but not in a way that repelled Rowan. It was fragile, like a delicate thread that could snap at any moment.

Rowan could feel the weight of Lucian's soul—the fragility of everything they were—and yet, his heart soared in that fleeting moment.

"I'll never leave you, Lucian," Rowan whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. "I'm right here. Always." His fingers tightened around Lucian's, trying to anchor him, to make this real—to make sure he wasn't just a dream.

His heart raced with an overwhelming need to hold on to the man who was still so distant and yet so close.

For a brief, suspended moment, the world around them seemed to align. The chaos of the dreamscape stilled, the broken shards of reality softened, and everything came together. The connection between them was palpable—an invisible force that surged between their intertwined hands, drawing them closer, even though the world around them seemed ready to collapse again.

Lucian's eyes softened as he looked at Rowan. His breath, though shaky, was steady. For the first time, he seemed to see Rowan—not as a ghost, not as a shadow of what he once was, but as someone real.

Someone who mattered.

But the moment was short-lived.

Rowan's chest tightened as Lucian's hand, once gripping his tightly, suddenly slipped away. A cold chill ran through the dream, the bond between them flickering, weakening.

Lucian's eyes flickered, his expression morphing into something distant, his form wavering once more as the dream began to twist again, as though it were trying to rip them apart.

"I... I can't stay," Lucian whispered, his voice now soft, almost pleading—broken. His body shimmered, threatening to fade from existence.

"No, Lucian, please." Rowan's voice was desperate, his hand reaching forward, grasping at the air where Lucian had been.

His fingers brushed against nothing, as if the dream was swallowing him whole. The bond was slipping away again.

Lucian's form blurred, his eyes wide with something that bordered on sorrow and defeat, and for a split second, Rowan could feel it—the sensation of losing him, the overwhelming fear that Lucian was slipping back into the fractures of his mind.

"I don't want to leave you," Lucian whispered, his voice a soft echo in the storm of the dream. "I don't want to be this version of me. But I don't know how to stay."

And just like that, the dream began to collapse.

Rowan gasped, the world shifting violently around him, dragging him back into reality.

His chest heaved as the dream shattered, the cold, sterile air of the medbay rushing back to him.

His eyes snapped open, blinking against the harsh light of the real world. His body was cold, sweat sticking to his skin, but his heart raced with the intensity of the dream.

He could still feel Lucian's presence, that brief connection that had sparked between them, lingering like a faint echo.

He sat up, gasping for breath, his body trembling. The weight of the dream—of Lucian's presence—clung to him like a second skin.

Even as the dream dissolved into nothingness, the connection between them lingered, fragile but real. Rowan reached out instinctively, his hand trembling as it moved to Lucian's, still resting on the bed beside him.

His fingers brushed across the cool skin, and he felt a shiver run through him, the coldness of Lucian's form a stark reminder of how much was still missing.

The life support monitors next to Lucian's bed beeped steadily, but there was something about the rhythm, something that felt different. It wasn't just the mechanical hum of the machines—it was the pulse of life within them. Lucian's vitals fluctuated: the numbers on the screen dancing erratically, but with an underlying pattern that seemed, for the first time, to show signs of recovery.

Rowan stared at the monitor, his breath catching. For a fleeting moment, it was as though their bond was beginning to stir.

Lucian's heart rate spiked, not in distress, but with a strange echo of life that seemed to match Rowan's own heartbeat, like a faint pulse from a heart that was slowly coming back to life.

Lucian's vitals fluctuated in a way that spoke volumes—not just instability, but progress.

There was a small increase in his oxygen intake, a soft rise in his heart rate—not enough to be considered stable, but enough to signify that something had shifted, however slightly. Something had changed.

Rowan's chest tightened as he clutched Lucian's hand, the weight of his fingers anchoring him in place, grounding him to the only thing that mattered—Lucian. He felt a surge of warmth, a tenderness swelling up from the very core of his being as he focused his attention entirely on Lucian.

With a soft exhale, Rowan leaned forward, his forehead brushing against Lucian's. The feeling was almost like a silent plea, an act of desperation wrapped in an overwhelming sense of tenderness. His fingers tightened around Lucian's hand, and for the first time since his return, Rowan poured his guiding energy into him. It was a slow, deliberate transfer of resonance—a guide's touch meant to calm, to stabilize, to pull Lucian back from the edge of his fragmented mind.

Rowan's pulse quickened as the resonance flowed between them. He could feel Lucian's energy, faint and broken, but there. His touch was light, his guiding abilities reaching out like a tether, finding the weak spots in Lucian's psyche and strengthening the fragile connection between them.

His heart thudded in his chest as he concentrated, the weight of his emotional need blending with the guiding connection, trying to pull Lucian back.

He whispered, though he wasn't sure if Lucian could hear him. "I'm still here, Lucian. You're not alone."

A strange sensation washed over Rowan as the fluctuations in Lucian's vitals grew more pronounced. Lucian's pulse strengthened ever so slightly, and for the briefest of moments, Rowan felt that shifting connection between them. The air around them seemed to thrum with emotional resonance, a soft, pulsing rhythm that was unmistakably their bond.

Lucian's fingers twitched, just a fraction. But to Rowan, it felt like the world had stopped spinning for a moment, the room growing still as his heart clenched with hope. It wasn't much, but it was something—a sign that Lucian was responding to him. It wasn't just the machines. It was Lucian, and that faint flicker was more than he had hoped for.

Rowan's breath became uneven, his chest tight with the rush of feelings he couldn't put into words. He pressed his lips to Lucian's hand, his eyes closing as a tear slipped down his cheek. "Come back to me," he whispered, his voice raw with desperation, yet tender, full of hope.

The vitals on the monitor spiked again, higher than before. The rhythmic beep of the life support machine was no longer a mere mechanical sound—it was like a heartbeat that mimicked their connection. Rowan could feel it in the air, in the resonance between them, even if it was still a faint echo.

Lucian's eyes remained closed, but the change in his vitals was undeniable—the bond was stirring, fragile but present. Rowan's heart filled with a mixture of relief and anxiety. His hand remained clasped around Lucian's, his pulse hammering in his ears as he focused all his energy on keeping that tender connection alive, pouring his guiding resonance into Lucian, even if just a little.

The light in Lucian's body flickered, his energy slowly starting to return, but it was still incomplete. There was still that hollow space in his gaze, still the shifting fractures beneath the surface. It wasn't enough to make him whole, but it was a sign that their bond was awakening—slowly, tentatively.

Rowan could feel the bond between them stretching, a fragile thread of connection that seemed to pulse between their hands, his own breath syncing with Lucian's. But it wasn't enough yet. Lucian wasn't there—he wasn't fully back—but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Lucian's presence was reaching out to him.

Rowan exhaled, his lips brushing against Lucian's hand once more. His chest tightened with an overwhelming need to protect him, to hold him through whatever storm lay ahead.

Rowan's hand tightened around Lucian's, his thumb tracing the lines of Lucian's knuckles. He couldn't look away from the monitors, but he couldn't shake the unease creeping up his spine—the growing sense of uncertainty.

Then, just as the room felt like it was about to implode with the weight of Rowan's desperation, something shifted.

Lucian's chest rose higher, a slow, deliberate movement, the rise and fall of his breathing more pronounced now. Rowan froze, the air between them thickening. His heart skipped a beat. Lucian's fingers twitched.

For a moment, Rowan could only watch, holding his breath, as the faintest flicker of Lucian's presence surged through the bond they shared. But still, it wasn't enough.

Lucian's eyes were closed, his face still pale, his lifeless form too distant.

The fluctuations in the monitors grew more pronounced again, as though Lucian's body was fighting to wake up, but something was holding him back—something darker, something empty.

Rowan's chest tightened painfully. He brushed his cheek against Lucian's arm, searching for something tangible—anything to pull him back from the brink.

Then, without warning, it happened.

Lucian's eyes fluttered open.

At first, it was slow, like the dawning of consciousness, but the moment they opened, it felt like time itself had stopped.

Lucian's eyes, dull and unfocused, met Rowan's—hollow.

The violet glow that had once been so bright, so full of life, was now a faint, flickering shadow of itself, like a candle struggling against the wind.

Rowan's breath hitched, and his fingers clenched around Lucian's hand. His heart stuttered—a lurching feeling deep in his chest as he looked into Lucian's eyes, knowing full well that he wasn't fully back yet.

There was a disquiet in them—emptiness where there should have been warmth, where there should have been recognition. Lucian's gaze was vacant, unfocused, like he was seeing something beyond Rowan, something that wasn't there.

But even so, Rowan couldn't pull away. The bond, fragile as it was, tugged at him. He had to hold on. He had to keep trying.

Lucian's voice came out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible, his lips barely moving.

"Rowan..." His name was like a broken echo, a feeble whisper that had no strength behind it. His eyes flickered, the gaze darting from Rowan to the ceiling, and then back to him, as if trying to find something familiar in the haze of his confusion.

Rowan's throat tightened. "Lucian..." he whispered back, his voice thick with the weight of all he had lost and gained. "I'm here. You're not alone. You're still here. I'll always be here."

Lucian blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy, and his expression was a mix of confusion and pain. It was as if he couldn't remember—couldn't quite place what was happening.

His eyes briefly flickered to the side, a flash of something more, something more like the Lucian Rowan knew. But it was fleeting, like a glimpse through a fog that was already closing in again. The absence, the hollowness—it was still there.

The void between them was undeniable.

Rowan's hand trembled as he leaned closer, brushing his lips gently against Lucian's forehead, the warmth of his skin sending a shock of desperate emotion through Rowan's chest. "I'm here, Lucian," he murmured, pressing his forehead against Lucian's, feeling the fragility of his presence. "Please, just come back to me. I can't lose you."

Lucian's chest rose and fell, his eyes flickering with a sense of distant recognition, but they still seemed to be lost.

He blinked once more, and then his eyelids fluttered shut again, as though the effort of focusing had drained him. The connection between them had been reawakened, but it was so fragile, so incomplete.

The monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, the fluctuations still present, but now less erratic—more controlled. Lucian's heart rate had increased, stronger now than before, but still not entirely stable.

Rowan's breath slowed, but his heart ached with the reality of Lucian's condition. He wasn't whole yet, not truly. But for a fleeting moment, Lucian's presence had been so real, so tangible, that Rowan could feel the weight of the connection between them, the bond that had been torn but was now struggling to heal.

Rowan's voice was a soft whisper as he continued to press his forehead against Lucian's, his fingers still gripping his hand tightly. "Please stay."

Lucian's breathing remained shallow, and his expression softened, but his eyes didn't open again. The moment of clarity was slipping away, leaving Rowan to wait once more, his heart racing with the need to protect and hold on.

The bond was still there, faint but alive. And so was Lucian—just not yet whole