The roar of the Liverpool docks still echoed in Liam’s ears, even as he sat on the hard, plastic chair in the sterile waiting room of St. Jude’s Hospital. The stark white walls, the faint scent of disinfectant, the hushed whispers of worry – it was a world away from the sweat-soaked canvas and the brutal grace of Blackwood. But this, this was the fight that truly mattered.

Liam clenched and unclenched his fists, the calluses he was building from his training feeling rough against his skin. Every bruise, every ache, every drop of sweat shed at the Academy was a sacrifice offered at the altar of Aisling's health. He had to make it count.

He glanced at the digital clock on the wall. 3:17 PM. Visiting hours started in thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes to steel himself, to paint a smile on his face that wouldn't betray the fear gnawing at his insides.

His mind drifted back, unbidden, to simpler times. To the emerald fields of County Clare, to the scent of peat smoke clinging to the air, to the sound of his mother’s lilting voice singing ancient Irish ballads.

**(Flashback)**

*Aisling, no more than seven, chased after Liam, a gangly ten-year-old, through a field bursting with wildflowers. Her bright red hair, a genetic gift from their grandmother, streamed behind her like a fiery banner. Liam, mimicking the commentary of a famous Gaelic football match, dribbled a worn leather ball between his bare feet.*

*"O'Connell! He's got the ball! He's weaving, he's dodging, he's… OH! A tackle from Aisling O'Connell! What a steal!"*

*Aisling, giggling, snatched the ball and ran in the opposite direction, her small legs pumping furiously. "You'll never catch me, Liam! I'm the fastest in County Clare!"*

*Liam feigned exhaustion, collapsing onto the grass. "Alright, alright, you win. But only because I let you."*

*Aisling plopped down beside him, her face flushed with exertion. She picked a daisy and held it up to the sunlight, its petals glowing like tiny lanterns.*

*"Liam," she said, her voice suddenly serious, "will we always be together?"*

*He ruffled her hair. "Of course, Aisling. Always. Nothing could ever break us apart."*

**(End Flashback)**

The memory was a sharp, agonizing pang in his chest. *Nothing could ever break us apart.* He’d spoken those words with the naive certainty of a child, oblivious to the cruel realities life could throw their way.

The tragedy had struck like a bolt of lightning, tearing through the fabric of their idyllic life. Their father, a fisherman, had been lost at sea during a sudden, violent storm. The loss had shattered their mother, and within a year, grief had claimed her too, leaving Liam, barely seventeen, the sole guardian of his younger sister.

The weight of responsibility had landed on him like a physical blow. He'd packed their bags, sold what little they had left, and crossed the Irish Sea to Liverpool, seeking better opportunities, a chance to build a new life.

He’d found work where he could, hauling cargo at the docks, cleaning pubs, anything to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Aisling, resilient and bright, excelled in school, her laughter a beacon in their otherwise bleak existence.

Then came the diagnosis. A rare and aggressive form of leukemia. The doctors spoke of chemotherapy, bone marrow transplants, experimental treatments – all of which came with a price tag that seemed astronomical.

He remembered the doctor's words, cold and clinical, echoing in his ears: *"Without treatment, she has maybe a year, Mr. O'Connell. Maybe less."*

A year. Maybe less. The words had become a relentless drumbeat in his head, driving him, pushing him, forcing him to do whatever it took to save her.

**(Flashback)**

*Liam sat beside Aisling’s bed in the small, cramped flat they shared. The flickering light of a single bulb cast long, dancing shadows on the walls. Aisling, her face pale and drawn, was hooked up to an IV drip. The chemotherapy was taking its toll.*

*"Tell me a story, Liam," she whispered, her voice weak.*

*He swallowed hard, fighting back tears. He needed to be strong, for her. He cleared his throat and began, spinning a fantastical tale of brave knights, mischievous fairies, and hidden treasures, drawing on the stories their mother used to tell them.*

*As he spoke, he noticed her hand, small and frail, resting on the blanket. He gently took it in his own, his fingers wrapping around hers.*

*"I'm scared, Liam," she confessed, her eyes filled with a childlike fear.*

*He squeezed her hand tightly. "I know you are, Aisling. But you're strong. You're the strongest person I know. And I'll be here, right beside you. Always."*

*He felt a surge of guilt, a burning shame at the lies he was telling her. He was scared too, terrified of losing her, terrified of failing her. But he couldn't let her see that. He had to be her rock, her anchor in the storm.*

**(End Flashback)**

The buzzer sounded, signaling the start of visiting hours. Liam stood up, his legs feeling heavy. He smoothed down his worn jeans and took a deep breath. Time to put on the mask. Time to be Lucky Liam, the charming, optimistic brother who could conquer any challenge.

He walked down the sterile corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He passed other families, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion. He knew he was just one of many, caught in the relentless grip of illness and despair.

He reached Aisling’s room and paused outside the door. He could hear her faint coughing, a dry, hacking sound that tore at his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength.

Then, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Aisling lay in bed, propped up by pillows. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her bright red hair was now thin and brittle. But her eyes, her bright, intelligent eyes, still sparkled with life.

"Liam!" she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face. "You made it!"

He grinned, forcing a lightness into his voice. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Aisling. How are you feeling today?"

"A bit tired," she admitted, "but I'm alright. What about you? Did you get any good scraps at the Academy today?"

He chuckled, relieved that she was still interested in his life outside the hospital walls. "A few. Razor's been pushing me hard. But I'm getting there."

He pulled up a chair beside her bed and took her hand. It felt so small, so fragile in his own. He squeezed it gently.

"I brought you something," he said, reaching into his bag. He pulled out a small, brightly colored book of Irish fairy tales.

"Oh, Liam!" she cried, her eyes lighting up. "You shouldn't have!"

"Nonsense," he said. "I know how much you love these stories. Maybe you can read one to me later?"

He spent the next hour talking to her, telling her about his training, about the colorful characters he'd met at Blackwood, carefully avoiding any mention of Volkov or the darker side of the Academy. He read to her from the fairy tale book, his voice taking on the lilt of their mother's when he recounted the magical adventures.

For that one hour, in that small, sterile room, the weight of the world seemed to lift, just a little. They were just Liam and Aisling again, brother and sister, bound together by an unbreakable bond, a love that transcended illness and despair.

As visiting hours drew to a close, Aisling’s breathing became more labored. Her face flushed, and she began to cough again, the sound rattling in her chest.

Liam’s heart clenched. He knew what was coming. The nurse would come in, administer some medication, and Aisling would drift off to sleep, exhausted and weak.

He held her hand tighter. “I have to go now, Aisling,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

She squeezed his hand weakly. “I love you, Liam.”

“I love you too, Aisling,” he whispered.

He kissed her forehead, the skin feeling hot and dry. He stood up and walked to the door, his back to her. He couldn’t bear to look at her face as he left.

He walked out of the room, out of the hospital, and into the cold, harsh reality of the Liverpool night. He looked up at the sky, at the distant stars twinkling in the darkness.

He made a silent vow, a promise to himself and to his sister. He would do whatever it took to save her. He would fight for her, claw for her, bleed for her. He would not let her down.

He walked back towards the docks, towards Blackwood, towards the darkness that lurked beneath the glitz of the combat world. He knew the road ahead would be treacherous, that he would face danger and corruption at every turn. But he was ready. He had to be. Because Aisling was counting on him. And he would not break their bond.