His voice was quiet, simple, unpolished—but every word carried something pure.
“God… please help Mr. Ryan. He’s really sad. He has a lot, but he can’t walk. The doctors say it can’t happen… but you made everything. So please… help him stand again. Amen.”
For a second, nothing happened.
Just silence.
And then—
A strange warmth spread through Ryan’s legs.
At first, it was so faint he thought he imagined it.
But then it grew stronger.
A tingling. Sharp. Alive.
It shot upward through his spine like a sudden current.
His breath caught.
“Wait…” he whispered, his voice trembling.
His legs twitched.
Not imagined.
Not a reflex.
Real.
“Ah—!” The sound escaped him before he could stop it.
Footsteps rushed toward them.
“Ryan! What’s going on?!” a woman’s voice called out, filled with panic.
It was Noah’s mother—Grace—her face pale as she took in the scene.
“Noah, what did you do?” she said quickly, moving forward. “I’m so sorry, sir—”
“Don’t—” Ryan cut her off, his voice shaking. “Don’t touch me.”
He was staring down.
His toe moved.
Just slightly.
But it moved.
His entire body began to shake as adrenaline surged through him.
“Help me,” he said, his voice barely controlled.