Alexander Harrington awoke in the dead of night to a sensation both alien and strangely familiar—a throbbing weight in his legs. After years of numbness and immobility, the sharp, almost electric pain beneath his skin felt alive. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he sensed movement where there had been none.
He lay in disbelief, unsure whether to hope or dismiss it as a cruel trick of the mind. Yet the discomfort lingered, carrying with it a flicker of possibility. By morning, the pain had faded into a tingling warmth, as if his nerves were slowly waking from a long slumber. Tentatively, he wiggled his toes—and to his astonishment, they moved. Slowly, imperfectly, but undeniably moved.
Alexander summoned his physician, Dr. Hayes, whose arrival brought a mixture of skepticism and professional curiosity. Tests were conducted, and results would take days—but Alexander refused to wait. He insisted on attempting movement, calling for his long-abandoned mobility aid. With trembling effort, he rose. His legs shook violently, weak from years of disuse, but they held. Step by step, he moved across the room, each one a small but monumental triumph.
Word of his progress spread quickly through his household. Staff watched in awe as the man who had resigned himself to a life in a wheelchair reclaimed his mobility. Each step Alexander took was an act of defiance, a reclamation of power long thought lost.
Yet as he lay back in bed that evening, Alexander’s thoughts drifted to Luke—the boy whose curious intervention had preceded this miracle. The memory of the child’s warm hand and earnest voice seemed impossible, but undeniable. It was a strange promise, and a gratitude long buried began to stir. He instructed his assistant: find the boy.
