The hospital room was dimly lit, the faint hum of machines blending with the occasional beeping of monitors. It was a quiet night, but for those inside Room 309 of the Orlando General Hospital, the silence carried the weight of an entire universe.Windham Rotunda—known to the world as Bray Wyatt—lay in the hospital bed, a shadow of the eerie, powerful persona he brought to life in WWE. Though his body had grown weak, his spirit still lingered in the room, strong and filled with warmth. His breathing was shallow but steady, each inhale and exhale reminding those around him of the fight he never gave up on.Suddenly, the door creaked open.Roman Reigns, “The Tribal Chief,” entered with slow, heavy steps. Behind him walked Solo Sikoa, quiet as ever, but his eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion. Both men had faced Bray in the ring—warriors of different clans—but tonight, there was no animosity. Tonight, they were brothers in sorrow.“Hey, Uce…” Roman whispered, approaching Bray’s bedside. He reached out, gently placing a hand on Bray’s arm. “You’ve always been one of the most creative souls I’ve ever known. The darkness you brought wasn’t just scary—it was art.”Bray’s eyes fluttered open for a moment. His lips curved into a faint smile.“Roman…” he murmured. “Still… the Head… of the Table?”Roman chuckled through the tears that threatened to spill. “Always, but you were always the heartbeat of this place. No one lit up a crowd the way you did.”Solo stepped forward, kneeling beside the bed. His head was bowed, his fists clenched in frustration and pain. “You were different,” Solo said quietly. “You taught us that being different is strength.”Bray turned his head slightly. “Solo… protect the bloodline. No matter what. Keep the fire burning.”The room fell into silence again, but this time it was peaceful, like the calm before a sunrise. Roman reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, weathered lantern—the same one Bray used in countless entrances. He placed it on the bedside table and lit it.“For you,” Roman said. “One last entrance, one last light in the darkness.”Bray’s eyes closed once more. A tear slid down his cheek—not of pain, but of peace. He had said goodbye in his own way.Minutes later, the monitors slowed… and then fell still.Roman and Solo stood in silence, the flickering lantern casting shadows on the walls. In that moment, they weren’t champions, they weren’t performers. They were family, mourning a soul who had touched millions with stories, fears, and fireflies.As they left the room, Roman whispered one last time, “Run… Bray. Run free.”—Let me know if you’d like a video script version or a dramatic voice-over draft as well.
