Violet lay unconscious in the center of the mana circle, her small body crumpled like a discarded doll.
Her eyes were closed, lashes dark against pale cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.
Darkness enveloped her consciousness—thick and suffocating, pressing down from all sides.
In that void, memories surfaced like corpses floating to a lake's surface.
***
Violet's PoV
The moments before we entered the Adventurer's Guild played behind my closed eyelids with perfect clarity.
This might be difficult. But I have no choice.
We'd walked through those doors. Down the side street. Into that building with its brass nameplate.
The old woman had told me to stand in the center of the magic circle.
I'd sat down, crossing my legs, trying to look calm despite the panic clawing at my throat.
She's going to examine my mana circuits. She's going to see they're healthy. She's going to know the poison isn't working.
My mind had raced through options. Escape? Impossible—Calla was blocking the door. Refuse? That would raise more suspicion than cooperation.
So I'd made a choice.
Before the old woman could even begin her chanting, I'd concentrated all of my mana—every drop I had—and surged it into my body and mana heart.
It's an exercise. Nothing special. Something Papa taught me for building endurance. You push mana through your circuits like water through a mill wheel, strengthening the pathways, tempering the heart.
But it requires mana. A lot of it.
I'd amplified the flow as much as I could. Pushed harder than I'd ever pushed during training.
Forced every reserve into circulation until my circuits burned with the strain.
Then she'd started the examination.
Within seconds, my mana reserves hit empty.
And that's when it happened.
The poison that had been held at bay by my mana—the corruption I'd been fighting since drinking Calla's medicine—surged forward like a dam breaking.
I could feel it.
Feel it eating through my body again. Gnawing at my circuits like acid on metal. Spreading cold tendrils through my veins.
It happened involuntarily once before.
I'd been in the cave with the Beastkin, training alone while the others rested. I'd pushed my limits—cast spell after spell until my reserves were depleted.
And the poison had rushed in to fill the void.
I'd collapsed then too. The pain had been unbearable—like my body was being devoured from the inside out.
Thankfully, I'd had the antidote potion with me.
Barely managed to drink it before losing consciousness completely.
But it had been close. Too close.
And now I've done it deliberately.
To fool them. To make the examination show exactly what Calla expected to see—a body being slowly destroyed by mana deterioration.
I managed to fool them.
But the consequences are hitting me now.
The pain was real. The poison was real.
And I had no antidote this time.
***
Violet's body convulsed slightly on the cold stone floor.
Her skin had gone grey. Sweat poured from her forehead despite the chill in the air.
Her breathing grew more labored with each passing second.
The old woman's milky eyes went wide. "This is worse than I thought—she's going into mana shock!"
She turned sharply toward the door and shouted, "Assistants! Now!"
The door burst open. Two young men in healer's robes rushed in, taking in the scene with practiced efficiency.
"Mana collapse," the old woman said sharply. "Get her to the healing ward. Immediately."
They didn't waste time asking questions. One scooped Violet up carefully—noting her fever-hot skin, her rapid pulse, the way her eyes moved beneath closed lids like she was trapped in a nightmare.
The other cleared a path as they rushed through the building.
Calla followed, her expression a perfect mask of maternal distress. Inside, her mind was calculating—"This might be better than expected. If she dies here, it's not my fault. Natural complications from a pre-existing condition. No one would suspect.
But I still have to keep her alive, as much I want her dead."
They reached the healing ward—a bright room lined with beds, medicinal herbs hanging from the ceiling, crystals embedded in the walls that pulsed with restorative magic.
The assistants laid Violet on the nearest bed. A senior healing mage appeared immediately, hands already glowing with green light.
"What happened?" she demanded, not looking up as her magic flowed into Violet's body.
"Mana deterioration," the old woman said, entering behind them. "Advanced stage. Her circuits are degrading rapidly."
The healing mage's expression darkened. "How long has she been like this?"
"Years, apparently." The old woman's voice carried professional disapproval. "The damage is extensive. I'm surprised she's still walking."
Green light intensified around Violet's body. The healing mage worked with swift precision—stabilizing her temperature, slowing her heartbeat, trying to ease the poison's spread through her system.
Minutes crawled past.
Violet's breathing began to steady. Her convulsions slowed, then stopped.
Color returned to her cheeks—not healthy color, but at least not the grey of impending death.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Consciousness returned in fragments—the smell of herbs, the feel of soft bedding, voices speaking in low, urgent tones above her.
Then, cutting through everything else—
"Violet!!!"
A voice she recognized.
Young.
Desperate.
Terrified.
Her eyes snapped open.
Vael stood in the doorway of the healing ward, silver hair disheveled, grey eyes wide with panic. He was breathing hard like he'd run the entire way.
Behind him, a healer was trying to grab his arm. "You can't just barge in here—"
"I don't care!" Vael's voice cracked. "That's my friend! Let me—"
His eyes found Violet on the bed. Their gazes locked.
For one heartbeat, the room held its breath.
Then Vael shoved past the healer with strength that surprised everyone and rushed to Violet's bedside.
"What happened?" His hands hovered over her, not quite touching, afraid he might hurt her. "I felt—I was passing by and I felt something wrong and I—"
He stopped, chest heaving, fear naked on his young face.
Calla's expression went cold.
An unkown boy. Here. Now.
This was becoming complicated.