A heavy stillness hung over the academy in the days that followed. The usual hum of conversation, the lively chatter of students in the corridors, all seemed to have dimmed as if the very air had thickened, carrying the weight of unspoken fear. Ellie walked through the halls, her footsteps soft on the ancient stone floors, but her mind was anything but calm.

The first whispers of the illness had come from the far reaches of the kingdom—a few reports of adventurers falling ill in the wilderness, their bodies left limp and unresponsive. At first, it seemed a distant problem, the sort of thing the council might debate but never truly worry about. But then the sickness had crept closer, slipping into the cities, the towns, and now into the Academy itself.

Ellie stopped at the entrance of the infirmary, where a small crowd had gathered. Several of the younger students sat slumped against the walls, their faces pale, their eyes wide with the same anxious question: Could it happen to me?

Inside, the healers worked quietly, their faces drawn with worry. The air was thick with the smell of herbs and antiseptics, a sharp contrast to the sweet scent of the academy gardens. Ellie hesitated, her hand resting on the doorframe, not wanting to cross into the room and see the faces of those who had been struck by the strange illness.

She’d heard the descriptions—a deep sleep, a draining of magical energy so complete it left the victims hollow. It was like watching a flame gutter out, leaving only the faintest flicker of life behind.

The illness was spreading fast, too fast for the healers to keep up. And the worst part was, no one knew what it was. Not even Elladora.

Ellie caught sight of the head healer, Justine, a tall, sharp-eyed woman with streaks of silver in her braided hair, moving with quiet efficiency from one bed to the next. She didn’t stop to rest, her hands constantly in motion, but the lines of strain around her mouth betrayed her exhaustion.

"Any change?" Ellie asked, stepping inside at last.

Justine shook her head without looking up. "None. It’s as though their very essence is being drained—like something’s feeding on them, something we can’t see or touch."

Ellie felt a chill run down her spine. She moved closer to the nearest bed, where a boy no older than seventeen lay motionless. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his skin pale against the dark blankets. His hair was damp with sweat, and there was a faint tremor in his hands, the only sign of life.

"He was fine yesterday," Justine murmured, following Ellie’s gaze. "Top of his class in magical theory. He collapsed this morning during a simple summoning exercise. His magic just… vanished."

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She had seen battle wounds, seen friends fall to blade and spell alike, but this—this was something else entirely. It wasn’t just a body succumbing to injury. It was as though something far more essential, something woven into the fabric of a person’s being, was unraveling.

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"And it’s not just students anymore," Justine continued, her voice low. "Adventurers, knights, anyone with strong magical abilities. They’re all falling sick."

"How many?" Ellie asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Justine’s eyes flickered with a tired sadness. "Too many. And more every day. We’ve sent word to the council, but…" She trailed off, knowing the answer was the same as before. The council was overwhelmed. No cure. No understanding. Only rumors.

Ellie clenched her fists at her sides. And where is Elladora? She hadn’t seen the archmage since the first murmurs of the illness had reached the Academy. It wasn’t like her to disappear when things grew dire.

The worst part of it all—the whispers. They had started out quietly, small murmurs of doubt that had begun to circulate among the students and staff alike. Why isn’t the archmage doing anything? Why isn’t the special advisor helping?

Ellie had heard them, even when people tried to hide their concerns behind respectful words. She wasn’t blind to the looks she received now—the ones filled with questions that no one dared to ask her directly.

But the weight of their expectations was beginning to press down harder than ever, each day bringing new victims, each failure to find a solution feeding the growing sense of helplessness that gnawed at her.

"What about Elladora?" Ellie tried to mask the frustration she felt building inside her, but it slipped through.

Justine glanced at her with a knowing look, but her expression was unreadable. "She’s been searching, I’m sure. If anyone can find the cause of this, it’s her."

Ellie nodded, but the words did little to ease the tension in her chest. If Elladora had found anything, she hadn’t shared it. And as the illness spread, the academy’s trust in its archmage seemed to waver, just as her own certainty began to crumble.

The thought was unsettling—Elladora had always seemed unshakable, a force of nature that couldn’t be undermined by doubt or fear.

Ellie turned back to the boy on the bed, her hand hovering above his. She could feel the absence of magic in him, the void where there should have been a wellspring of energy. It was as though something had ripped it away, leaving only a hollow shell. The boy’s face was peaceful, but it was a peace that chilled her to the core.

"Ellie." Justine’s voice cut through her thoughts. "This isn’t your fault."

The words were meant to comfort, but Ellie couldn’t help the guilt that twisted inside her. She had faced horrors before—monsters, dragons, even the Devil King himself. But this, this creeping illness that drained life from the strongest among them, felt beyond her reach. The council could demand all they wanted, but what could she do against something so silent, so insidious?

Elladora had always known what to do. Always had a plan, a hidden card up her sleeve. But now, with each passing day of silence from the archmage, Ellie couldn’t shake the fear that maybe, just maybe, even Elladora didn’t have the answers this time.

And if Elladora didn’t… what hope was there for the rest of them?

A soft groan escaped from the bed beside her, pulling Ellie from her thoughts. She looked down, startled, as the boy’s eyelids fluttered briefly, his lips parting as if to speak. But no words came. His breath hitched, then fell back into its shallow rhythm, his body sinking further into the bed.

Ellie exchanged a glance with Justine, whose face had gone pale.

"He’s slipping deeper," the healer whispered. "We’re running out of time."

Ellie’s heart pounded in her chest, and the weight of responsibility settled heavy on her shoulders.