In the hospital room, the air was heavy with the smell of antiseptic and silent prayers. Jenna sat by Jim's bedside, pale and trembling, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Deep inside her mind, she knew exactly where Jim had been—Senedro—but she couldn't explain it, couldn't understand why he wasn't waking up.
Beside her were Gloria and Matt, heads bowed, whispering desperate prayers. They had already witnessed one miracle—the cancer retreating from Jim's body like a defeated army. But now, two days into a coma, they were terrified they had used up all their luck.
And then, suddenly, the machines beeped. The heart monitor climbed. A weak but steady rhythm. Gloria gasped, tears filling her eyes. Matt clutched the side of the bed like he was anchoring himself to reality. Jenna's head snapped up, eyes wide. Jim's fingers twitched. He was back.
He blinked slowly, like pulling himself through thick water, and when he finally saw the blurred figures leaning over him, one face cleared from the haze—Jenna Kossel. The only girl he had ever truly loved. His lips curled into a small, tired smile. This was strange, not the way he used to return to his body.
A second miracle for the family. Maybe even a third if you counted Jim cheating death in that cursed arena.
But deep inside Jim, beyond the tubes and the IV drips, there was a storm brewing. His mind kept replaying that final moment: the cold stare of the Zim, the way his knees gave out, the terrible realization that he had left Gulutel to face that ancient spirit alone.
Why had he been pulled out? Why now? He couldn't shake the feeling.
He wasn't supposed to leave Senedro yet. There was unfinished business. A battle left half-fought.
He was supposed to fight. To protect. And here he was—stuck back in a hospital bed, tangled in wires, while Gulutel could already be dead. The guilt gnawed at him harder than the cancer ever had.
He wanted to scream, to tear out the needles and run back somehow. But then... he looked again at Jenna.
Even through his blurred vision, he could tell she was getting weaker. Her skin had the ghostly pallor of someone fighting a losing battle. The sparkle that once danced in her eyes had dimmed. She tried to smile, but it looked painful, like lifting an unbearable weight.
Jim could see it now with brutal clarity: Jenna was dying.
Cancer was eating her alive, day by day. No words were needed. He saw it. He felt it. And somehow, he understood—he hadn't been ripped out of Senedro for nothing. He was back because Jenna needed him more than ever.
And maybe, just maybe, he had one more miracle left in him to give.
For now, though, the room was filled with a quiet kind of happiness. Gloria wiped her tears, Matt whispered something about God being good, and Jenna held Jim's hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.
The Slevann family had their boy back.
But they all knew, deep down, that the real fight had only just begun.
And after everything Jim Slevann had seen during his last clock-in at Senedro — the blood, the swords, the screaming, the flying limbs — he realized one brutal truth: life could end quicker than a bad joke at a funeral.
And somehow, despite all the cosmic madness he'd been through, he was still breathing down here on Earth. Which meant one thing: he still had choices.
If he died right now, the only regret Jim knew he'd carry into whatever afterlife was waiting would be not marrying Jenna Kossel — the smiling, beautiful, brave girl who somehow still looked at him like he was worth something, even when he was dragging hospital wires around like a broken Christmas tree. So they made the decision the way young people do when they know time's not on their side: fast, messy, full of heart.
No big plans, no white horses, no sparkly Pinterest board nonsense. Just two people, grabbing tight to the moment because tomorrow was a luxury they weren't promised.
That evening, the tiny hospital chapel was packed — well, "packed" meaning about eleven people if you counted the nurse who stuck around out of curiosity.
Jenna's parents were there, smiling through tears, proud beyond words that their daughter was getting her dream, even if the dream was happening a little sideways.
Jim's family — the Slevanns — showed up too, Matt looking awkward in a wrinkled shirt but beaming like he'd just won the lottery.
Jim stood at the front, sweaty palms, heart punching his ribs like a boxer on Red Bull. Jenna was rolled in, her IV pole rattling along like a loyal dog, and when she smiled at him, every nerve in Jim's body went electric.
She was so thin now. Fragile in a way that scared him senseless. But when she looked at him, she looked like forever.
And he knew in that second — he didn't care if they had five years or five minutes.
Jenna Kossel was his person. Period.
The "ceremony" was technically officiated by Nurse Rita who Googled a marriage script ten minutes beforehand.
When she said, "You may kiss the bride," Jim didn't just kiss Jenna.
He kissed the life they were daring to build, fragile as it was.
He kissed the years they still hoped for, the dumb fights they hadn't had yet, the kids they might never meet, the old age they probably wouldn't reach together. He kissed her like she was the only real thing in a world made of smoke.
And the room — God, the room — exploded with claps, laughter, a few loud sobs. Jenna's dad shouted something about grandkids, and Nurse Rita wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Even the IV pole seemed to shimmer with pride.
Jim Slevann didn't know if he could cheat the universe, if he could outsmart time, or if he'd ever hear from Dias again.
But right here, right now?
He was exactly where he needed to be. And Jenna Kossel — sick, smiling, magical Jenna — was exactly who he would spend whatever he had left fighting for.
Bring it on, universe. Jim was married now. And marriage?
That was a whole new kind of war he was ready to win.