Chapter 76 – The Queen’s Secret

The automatic doors flung open with a violent hiss.
Alex rushed into the emergency room, breath ragged, heart pounding so violently it thundered in his ears.
He frantically scanned the intake desk—no one was looking his way. Only the high, steady scream of a heart monitor cut through the air with terrible finality.

Peeeeeeeeee—

No rhythm. No heartbeat. Just that long, merciless flatline.
He broke into a desperate run.

“Nao—!”

Staff tried to block his path, shouting about protocol and procedures, but he shouldered past with wild determination, eyes fixed on the half-drawn curtain at the end of the hallway.
He threw it open with desperate force.

Naosa lay there—still and pale as marble, her body sinking into the hospital bed as if it were swallowing her whole. Tubes crossed her arms and ran into her nose with clinical precision. Her chest—eerily, terrifyingly still.

For a moment—just a moment—Alex’s entire world collapsed into nothingness. His knees nearly gave out beneath him.

A nurse moved to switch off the machine when Alex grabbed her wrist with trembling hands.
“She left a DNR,” the nurse said softly, her tone professional but kind. “She didn’t want to be resuscitated.”

“I don’t care,” Alex whispered, shaking his head violently. “She didn’t know this would happen. She didn’t understand.”

He turned, eyes wild with desperation, and shouted, “Put her on life support. Do it now!”

He kept pressing down on her chest, breathing for her again and again, as if sheer love could will her back.

The room erupted into controlled motion. Machines were wheeled in with efficiency, lines connected with precision. The long tone broke into static—then, slowly, an artificial rhythm returned.

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Naoaki arrived moments later, pale and visibly shaking. He took one look at the scene—and for the first time in years, he looked truly afraid.

They waited in agonizing silence.

An hour passed. Then two.

Naosa’s body was medically stabilized—but she hadn’t woken up. Her coma was deep—unreachable.

Outside the room, Alex sat slumped in a chair, face buried in his hands. Naoaki stood silently by the window, watching his daughter’s motionless form. Kacy looked pale and shaken; Lu was holding back tears with visible effort.

“It’s my fault,” Alex murmured, self-condemning. “I should’ve known. I should’ve stayed with her.”

Kacy’s voice was firm with conviction. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

Lu sat beside him and quietly held his hand in silent support.

Alex whispered, broken, “She said she didn’t want to be saved. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t let go.”

No one had the strength to argue with his decision.

Finally, a doctor approached with cautious professionalism.
“She’s stable for now. We haven’t determined the cause, but her body simply gave out.”

Alex looked at Naoaki and said heavily, “She has an underlying illness. It’s a rare disease.”

Naoaki didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened with strain. Something raw and unreadable crossed his face.

Then he spoke, his voice heavy with years of burden.
“Alex… I should’ve told you sooner.”

He swallowed back his sobs and said quietly, “Naosa isn’t sick. That’s just what Sarotte and I wanted to believe. I don’t know if you’ll believe this, but I have to tell you the truth.”

He told him about Sarotte and the mysterious De Valois family legacy. And then—

“She succeeded the Queen. The Queen’s name…”

When Naoaki spoke the name, Alex murmured at the exact same time, “Séraphine.”

Naoaki’s eyes widened in shock. “How do you know that name?”

Alex closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. “Because she’s the one I’ve been searching for all this time. My Séraphine. My beloved.”

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Early the next morning, the door creaked open softly.

It wasn’t a nurse.

It was a woman—elderly, elegant. Her posture was remarkably straight despite her age, her coat a deep woolen blue, expertly tailored and hand-stitched. Her silver hair was braided and wrapped into a soft, dignified bun. Her eyes—piercing and hauntingly familiar—went straight to Naoaki.

He stiffened with recognition. “Geneviève…” he whispered.

Alex turned, confused. “Who…?”

She stepped forward slowly, glancing through the glass at Naosa’s still form.

“Geneviève,” Naoaki said, voice hushed with reverence. “Sarotte’s elder sister. Naosa’s aunt.”

Geneviève nodded solemnly. “It’s happening again.”

“You knew this would happen… it’s that cursed piano,” Naoaki murmured, voice trembling with accusation.

Her hand rested gently on his arm. “It’s not a curse. The piano has been protecting Séraphine all along. I hoped she’d be spared. I prayed constantly. But the moment she stopped playing… I knew.”

“Stopped playing?” Alex echoed, alarmed. “She hasn’t touched the piano in weeks… not since…”

Geneviève nodded with sad understanding. “The piano is more than a symbol. It’s her seal—her sanctuary. When Séraphine leaves it behind, the gate opens. The messengers come calling. She was caught in their trap again. I told her—not to extend her stay in New York…”

Alex’s voice rose in desperate confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Geneviève turned to him, calm and clear-eyed, her voice carrying ancient knowledge.
“The gift she carries was never meant for this world. That’s why the other side keeps trying to reclaim her. Your Naosa is Séraphine, Alex. And the music you thought was merely beautiful… it’s what keeps her alive.”

“The spirits don’t hate her. They long for her. Her soul shines so brightly, they can’t help but reach for it.”

“But only the piano obeys her will. Only the Requiem bends them to her command. Without it—she’s completely exposed. Messengers feed on human weakness—jealousy, hatred, grief. That’s how they set their traps.”

Alex remembered with sudden clarity: when Séraphine played the Requiem, those who showed love for their families in their final moments were saved—but those consumed by rage were taken by the messengers.
And she—too far from her piano, emotionally torn apart by jealousy and fear—had been caught in the witch hunt’s snare.

Alex sank back, stunned.
“Why didn’t anyone tell her?” he whispered in anguish. “Why didn’t you?”

Geneviève’s expression cracked, grief pooling behind her eyes like deep water.
“Because I failed to protect Sarotte. I thought I was shielding Séraphine by hiding the truth… but I see now—silence was its own kind of cruelty.”

Naoaki lowered his head, fists clenched with helpless rage.

“What can we do?” Alex asked desperately. “How do we bring her back?”

The woman turned to him slowly, her gaze filled with infinite sadness and hope.
“You. Only you. You’re the one the legends speak of—the traveler, the one she chooses.”

“Don’t give up on her. Believe in your love. No matter how dark it is where she is now—don’t let go.”

“What can save her… isn’t the piano, or the Requiem, or her bloodline.”
Her eyes softened with profound tenderness. “It’s you. It’s your love.”

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