Ivan entered the doctor's office, a strange feeling twisting in his stomach, as if something heavy was pressing down on him—a growing pressure, as though something inside him was about to explode.
When the doctor glanced at the test results and calmly broke the news, Ivan wasn't prepared for the words that followed.
"Ivan, the diagnosis is ischemic heart disease. There's insufficient blood flow to your heart muscle. This means your condition will progressively worsen over time."
In that moment, Ivan felt the air leave his lungs, his mouth dry. The doctor's words struck him like a bolt of lightning. He didn't know how to respond or even how to think. His mind stood still, and his head spun. He tried to focus on the doctor's explanation, but the words wouldn't stick in his mind.
"What does that mean?" he whispered faintly, more to himself than the doctor—a feeble attempt to grasp what was happening. "Am I going to die soon?"
The doctor answered, maintaining his composure:
"Not immediately. But this is a chronic illness, and if you don't take the necessary measures, the symptoms will worsen over time."
A wave of emotional pain washed over Ivan as though the news had shattered something inside him. Everything around him felt off-balance, and a heavy weight settled on his chest. He couldn't bear the thought of his life changing forever. He thought of everything he'd have to lose.
"What do you mean my condition will worsen?" he asked, his voice laden with urgency, as if the answer mattered more than ever. He was now focusing on the disease's physical toll. "Will I become incapacitated?"
A long silence followed before the doctor replied, his eyes filled with empathy.
"Over time, you may find it hard to breathe. You'll tire quickly, even with simple activities like walking or climbing stairs. I can't predict how fast your condition will progress, but with treatment, you can stabilize it for a while."
Ivan's mind was in turmoil. It felt as though the ground beneath his feet was giving way, leaving him floating helplessly in a void. His body trembled, and the air around him felt stifling. "How do I live with this? How do I handle these restrictions?" he murmured, his eyes fixed on the doctor, though he wasn't expecting an answer. Questions raced through his mind faster than he could process them.
The doctor, noticing Ivan's dazed state, responded:
"You'll need to adjust your life. You'll find new ways to live, adopting a quieter lifestyle. You won't be the same as before, but you can adapt to this new reality. Treatment will help manage the symptoms, but patience and acceptance will be key."
Ivan struggled to absorb the doctor's words. His heart pounded wildly, and he couldn't comprehend the magnitude of these changes. The image of his old life faded before his eyes, leaving everything unclear and unattainable.
"How do I adapt to something like this?" he whispered, the words heavy on his tongue as if hitting an internal wall. "How do I live knowing that… I'll lose everything?"
The doctor took a deep breath, trying to ease the gravity of the situation:
"You'll need time to accept this, Ivan. But you won't face it alone. We're here to support you, and you'll learn to adjust step by step."
After a moment, the doctor left the room, leaving Ivan alone with his spiraling thoughts. At first, he'd believed this was just a test—a fleeting challenge he could overcome. But he soon began to feel differently in those dark moments that followed. A heavy burden weighed on his heart, and with each passing moment, the pain intensified.
In the days that followed, Ivan experienced a rapid decline in his physical condition. He felt extreme fatigue after even the smallest movements, as though his body was betraying him. Sometimes, it felt as if his heart stopped briefly, only to struggle back into a labored rhythm. Over time, the symptoms became more apparent. Every attempt at normalcy left him exhausted, with searing pain in his chest, as though his heart was breaking apart piece by piece.
In his final days, Ivan sat in his room, staring blankly into the void. His thoughts raced uncontrollably. Death loomed closer, and he felt its presence more than ever. There was no one to console him, no force in the world capable of giving him genuine hope. He knew the end was near, and there was no escape.
"Have I lived my life right?" he murmured to himself, his teary eyes clouded with despair. "Where did I waste my time? Was it all meaningless?"
He felt his body fading, his mind releasing every old thought he had clung to. Perhaps he never had a chance to change anything, or maybe life had simply chosen this path for him. But in those final moments, he felt a strange sense of inner peace, as though everything had suddenly quieted. The end was nearer than he'd imagined, but he didn't feel as afraid as he thought he would.
In that moment, he knew his life was over. Nothing would ever be the same again.
---
Under the pale moonlight filtering through the small windows, the baron Alistair Crawford's house was alive with movement and hushed whispers. Despite the house's simplicity compared to the grand estates of higher-ranking nobles, anticipation filled the air as Lady Maria endured the trials of childbirth.
In a modest room with simple furnishings, Maria lay on her bed, covered with a rough but clean blanket. Beside her, the midwife, an elderly woman with years of experience, gave calm instructions.
"You're strong, my lady. Everything is going smoothly. Breathe slowly and push when necessary."
By the door, Baron Alistair stood, leaning against the wooden frame, his anxiety apparent. His hand gripped the handle of his cane tightly, and his eyes never left the room. He wasn't a powerful or wealthy baron but a modest noble trying to maintain his title and small estate. The birth of his heir meant everything to him.
Suddenly, a loud cry broke through the tense atmosphere. The midwife smiled as she held up the baby and turned to Maria with excitement.
"It's a boy, my lady. A healthy boy!"
But deep within the infant, a strange awareness began to stir. That child was none other than Ivan, who found himself suddenly in this tiny body. A suffocating sense of alienation swept over him, and fragmented thoughts flooded his mind:
"What's happening? Where am I? Why does this hurt?!"
Ivan tried to speak, but his words emerged as disjointed cries.
"I'm here! I want to understand! Why… why can't I talk?!"
The cries echoed through the room as sharp, piercing wails. The midwife looked at the baby with a smile.
"He's a strong one, his voice fills the room."
As the midwife handed the baby to his mother, Ivan felt utterly helpless. His new world was chaotic and incomprehensible, and his tiny body refused to respond as he remembered. Yet one thing became clear to him: this wasn't the world he knew—it was something entirely different.