At this time, the crystal chandelier, which weighed over a hundred pounds, was about to falter. At last, the tensed rope couldn't bear the weight and a part of the chandelier smashed down directly.

Rena stood frozen in place, unable to move an inch.

In a heartbeat, a hero emerged from the shadows. Harrison, a beacon of courage, shielded Rena from the descending disaster. Blood stained his forehead, his sacrifice a testament to his valiance. Then a bigger part of the chandelier fell towards his forehead.

But fate's cruel hand still loomed, the chandelier's descent unrelenting. There would be no possibility for him to survive if he got hit.

In an instant, the universe held its breath as the unthinkable transpired.

Waylen intercepted the chandelier's deadly trajectory.

His arm bore the brunt of the impact, the sharp shards finding an unwilling sacrifice in his flesh. The chandelier finally fell to the ground with a loud bang.

Debris rained down, the aftermath of the chandelier's devastating impact.

The theater erupted in chaos, a scene of horror that painted the world in shades of uncertainty.

Rena, her vision fading into the embrace of unconsciousness, found herself trapped within the clutches of darkness.

"Rena!"

Waylen's anguished cry echoed through the air, a desperate plea that mirrored the depths of his sorrow.

He cradled her weak form in his arms, both of them drenched in a chilling coat of crimson.

Undeterred by his own injuries, Waylen's voice shattered the air, a command that brooked no argument.

"Call an ambulance!"

Time stretched on, each passing second a torment for Waylen. With Rena's life hanging in the balance, he couldn't bear the thought of losing her or the precious life she carried within her.

And then there was Harrison...

Had he not acted, Rena's fate would have been... Waylen's mind recoiled from the unthinkable.

Beyond the hospital walls, a flurry of snowflakes danced in the wind, an ethereal backdrop to the unfolding tragedy.

The hospital's sterile corridors bore witness to their arrival, Waylen's face a mask of anguish as he battled his own hemorrhaging injuries. His pallor was stark against the unforgiving lighting, a portrait of a man on the precipice. Korbyn and Juliette arrived in haste, Cecilia at their side, worry etched deeply on their faces. Their voices mingled in a chorus of concern, a symphony of questions.

“How is Rena?"

Waylen, his arm hastily bandaged, seemed to wear his exhaustion Like a cloak.