?Chapter 826:


    He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as if to imprint the portrait into his soul.


    Maia, sensing his unspoken need, pivoted the easel. The painting of his mother now faced him fully, her gentle features glowing with serenity. Her eyes, vivid and warm, seemed to pierce through time, locking onto his.


    For a heartbeat, the world stilled. It was as if his mother had crossed the chasm between life and death to gaze upon him once more.


    A sharp hiss escaped his lips. Dizziness crashed over him, a splitting headache wing at his skull. His knees buckled, the room spinning as memories — long buried — surged to the surface.


    Images flickered like an old film reel: a faceless woman holding his hand, her features now sharpening into focus. Her voice, soft and familiar, echoed in his mind.


    “Sweetheart, slow down, or you’ll tumble.”


    Another sh: “I’ve made your favorite noodle bowl, love.”


    And then, fainter,ced with quiet strength: “If I’m gone one day, you must keep going, Chris. Look to the stars when you miss me. I’ll be there, shining for you.”


    “Don’t doubt it. Live on…”


    Chris clutched his head, the flood of memories overwhelming. His mother’s smiles, her gentle frowns, herughter — they yed before him, vivid and relentless.


    One hand pressed against his temple, the other braced on the floor, he fought to stay upright. Cold sweat beaded on his brow, dripping in heavy rivulets. His body trembled, curling inward as if to shield itself from the onught.


    Maia’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern. “Chris!”


    She rushed to his side, her hands steadying his swaying frame.


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    Mariana started forward, her instinct to help warring with hesitation. Her eyes darted between Kiley and Chris, lips parting but no words came. She bit her lip, unable to bring herself to publicly ask if he was alright.


    Sweat glistened on Chris’ ashen face, his breaths shallow. One hand gripped his temple, the other pressed into the floor, anchoring him as perspiration traced paths down his cheeks.


    “Someone get a doctor!” a voice shouted from the crowd.


    Grover and the staff surged forward, urgency in their steps. “Do we need an ambnce?” Grover asked, his tone clipped.


    Maia knelt beside Chris, grasping his hands. “Look at me, Chris. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”


    Whether it was her words or the fading storm in his mind, the sweat on Chris’ forehead began to ebb.


    He drew a ragged breath, his voice rough as gravel. “I am fine.”


    Grover waved the staff back. “Clear the area. Give him room to breathe.”


    Maia, still hovering, searched his face. “Are you sure you’re alright? You were shaking just now.”


    Chris lowered his gaze, meeting the eyes of the woman who stood a head shorter yet held him up with fierce determination. “I rang the bell,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.


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