Felzein’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, as though the very air might distort the gravity of what he was about to reveal.
“This isn’t merely a serum. It’s a calculated gamble. The compound within was not merely formulated. It was nurtured, refined through sleepless nights and tempered with fragments of both science and desperation.”
He turned the vial slowly in his fingers, the liquid within catching the dim light like molten starlight.
“The nanoparticle carriers are crafted to be both agile and precise, stealth messengers, if you will. They protect the neurotrophic factors from enzymatic breakdown, ensuring they reach their destination unscathed.”
“Once there, the BDNF and NGF are released in synchrony, one to restore synaptic bridges, the other to coax damaged axons into rebirth. It’s a duet of regeneration, designed not only to halt degeneration, but to reverse it, if the conditions allow.”
Cherlyn listened in silence, her eyes never leaving the vial. There was something in her expression, part disbelief, part reverence.
“And you’ve tested this?” she asked finally, her voice lower now, as though afraid to disrupt the fragile hope hanging in the air.
Felzein hesitated, then gave a weary smile.
“Not fully… not yet. But sometimes, the only way forward is through the unknown.”
He raised the vial a fraction higher, letting the muted glow of the overhead light catch the silvery-blue fluid as it shimmered like mercury caught in moonlight.
“In Ryu’s case...” he began, his tone more meditative than clinical.
“The damage likely stems from a cascade of neurochemical trauma excitotoxicity within the central nervous system. Judging from his MRI scans and the irregularities in his respiratory rhythm, I suspect a disruption in the delicate balance between glutamate and GABA.”
He paused, as though weighing each word before offering it to the air between them.
“This compound was designed with that very imbalance in mind. It acts upon the overactive NMDA receptors, damping the neurotoxic overdrive while gently restoring equilibrium to the synaptic signalling.”
Cherlyn remained still. She spoke no words, but her eyes shimmered with a quiet reverence that betrayed the depth of her admiration.
“There’s more,” Felzein continued, his voice now laced with a subtle urgency.
“I’ve infused the solution with trace concentrations of bioactive resveratrol and a modified curcumin derivative, agents known for their neuroprotective and anti-inflammatory properties. Their function is to inhibit the NF-kB pathway and guard against the programmed death of glial cells.”
“The dosage has been calculated precisely according to Ryu’s physiological parameters. This is not some speculative concoction. It was crafted intentionally, meticulously for him.”
Cherlyn inclined her head, her expression now unreadable, but focused deeply so.
The stillness of the laboratory pressed in on them, every breath and thought suspended in a fragile hush.
Then, at last, her voice emerged low, steady, almost solemn, “And what of oral treatment? Do you believe Ryu will require anything supplementary?”
Felzein didn’t answer straight away. His gaze drifted across the quiet room, as if the shelves and softly blinking instruments might whisper guidance.
Then he exhaled, slow and measured, before nodding once.
“There are several candidates,” he said quietly.
“That could serve as adjunct therapy. Nothing miraculous on its own, but they might offer stability. Support. A scaffold for the body, while the nervous system tries to find its way back.”
A weighted silence lingered between them, delicate as a breath held too long.
Cherlyn waited without impatience, her gaze steady upon Felzein, who now seemed consumed by the quiet storm of his thoughts, sifting through every fragment of knowledge, every shadow of possibility.
At last, he spoke. His tone softer now, touched with a gravity that suggested the burden of hard-won insight.
“These medications comprise a pharmacological scaffold, each selected to coax the nervous system back from the edge, to soothe the chaos and restore balance where it has been lost.”
“Lamotrigine, to begin with. It’s often used in managing bipolar disorder and epilepsy, but beyond that, it offers a shield, neuroprotective in nature."
"It stabilises neural membranes, taming the storm of overactivity that might otherwise scorch the pathways of the brain. In Ryu’s case, that storm may well be the root of the unraveling.”
He drew a thoughtful breath, his voice low and unhurried, as if each word were being placed with surgical precision.
“Memantine, too, holds promise. It tempers the glutamatergic system, specifically by modulating NMDA receptors, those culprits in excitotoxicity and degeneration. It doesn’t heal, not outright, but it grants neurons a chance to breathe.”
“Then there is topiramate,” he went on, “an anticonvulsant by design, yet one that has proven useful in preventing migraines and quieting the hyperactivity of neural circuits. In certain presentations, it offers a kind of gentle recalibration.”
He stepped slightly aside, as though the act of explaining had reawakened his clinical instincts.
“If there are signs of widespread inflammation of tissue screaming just beneath the surface, NSAIDs like ibuprofen or meloxicam could serve to calm that fire."
"Though..." he added, the warning slipping naturally into his cadence. “...with caution. Prolonged use has its own cost, gastric and renal complications cannot be ignored.”
A moment passed before he continued, his voice growing almost tender.
“And for the silent torment, the phantom aches, the stinging ghosts of damaged nerves, pregabalin might provide relief. It softens the transmission of pain, quietens the cacophony within the synapses.”
He turned to face Cherlyn fully then, his expression earnest, as though hoping she might hear not just his words but the years of relentless thought behind them.
“Of course, each drug is but one thread in a larger weave. Their efficacy depends on how Ryu’s body responds, what it accepts, what it rejects. Vigilance is essential. Adjustments will be necessary. No protocol is fixed in stone.”
Cherlyn listened in silence, her brows drawn together in something between awe and vexation.
Then, in a voice laced with reluctant admiration, she murmured, “Both of us trained in medicine. Yet somehow, it feels as though you’ve taken a detour through the future.”
She stepped closer, her gaze piercing now, “So tell me! Are these merely elegant theories, or have they known the truth of trial?”
Felzein’s smile came slowly, almost wistfully, his eyes never leaving the glimmering vial in his hand.
“I’ve never tested a single one,” he replied softly, raising a hand to tap his temple. “All of it lives only up here.”
Cherlyn sighed, a gentle breath that barely stirred the air, before shaking her head with a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips.
"Very well! That’s you in a nutshell. The mad theorist, always cloaked in unsettling calm."
She cast a glance at the slender watch circling her wrist, “Come. We ought to leave. You did promise to see my parents first, didn’t you?”
Her tone was casual, but her steps were already purposeful, retreating towards the door of the dimly lit laboratory.
Felzein’s smile lingered, quiet and unreadable, “Yes… I did,” he murmured so softly, it felt more like a vow whispered to no one but himself.
His fingers moved with swift precision, securing the vials one by one, each bottle a shard of hope, meticulously placed within a cushioned case built to protect not just its contents, but the fragile dreams woven into them.
When the last bottle had settled into place, he stood still for a moment, his eyes resting on them with an intensity that suggested reverence or perhaps resignation.
Then, slowly, he closed the case. The soft click of the locking clasp echoed faintly, like the closing of a chapter he dared not reread.
Wordless, he followed Cherlyn into the quiet corridor beyond, where the hum of the outside world began to filter in.
“It’s a two-hour drive if we’re to speak with both of them,” said Cherlyn as she slipped into the passenger seat of Felzein’s sleek vehicle. “Though I do hope we make it in less than that.”
Felzein, settling into the driver’s seat, turned towards her with a sidelong glance, one brow arched in faint provocation.
“So you’re tempting me to revisit old madness? Is that it?”
Cherlyn’s lips curled ever so slightly, her gaze fixed on the road ahead, “Perhaps. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you lose control with style.”
Felzein's grin widened, the glint in his eye matched only by the sharp intake of breath that preceded his words.
"You'll regret that, Lyn…" he said, voice low and laced with mischief.
And then...
VRROOOOMM!!
The engine screamed to life like some caged creature finally loosed, and in a breathless instant, the car surged forward tearing out from the front gate with a ferocity that made the air itself shiver.
Time, it seemed, was forced to yield.
"He's in quite the hurry..." came the quiet murmur of a woman’s voice.
"Indeed. And look! He's gone and left the gate wide open again. If burgled once more, who’ll bear the blame then?" another replied, her tone edged with anxiety.
The figures, cloaked in the half-shadow of the neighbouring wall, were none other than Rosa and Melati, silent observers cloaked in curiosity.
They had forgone the mall outing with a flimsy excuse delivered to Dewi, Rasya, and Wina.
The truth lay not in shopping bags, but in suspicion. An itch for answers that could not be ignored.
“There’s something unresolved between Felzein and Dr Cherlyn,” Melati whispered, her gaze fixed upon the still-settling dust that trailed in the car’s wake.
Rosa’s fingers gripped her companion’s sleeve with quiet intensity. Her voice was laced with something between awe and discovery.
“She’s not just some old acquaintance. Dr Cherlyn… she’s like the ghost of a former fiancée, unfinished, unspoken, and most definitely not gone.”
Her words lingered in the air like a revelation unwrapped too soon, a whispered prologue to a chapter no one had meant to read yet.