"Nothing good," he muttered, his eyes scanning the various spells, none of which seemed useful to him.

He flipped through the pages one by one, the sound of the paper crisp under his fingers. It didn't take long before he reached the last page.

This page, however, stood out—its quality was noticeably different from the rest. It was thicker, almost like it had been forcefully inserted into the book, as though it didn't belong.

But as his gaze lingered on it, he realized it was completely blank.

He frowned, running a finger over the smooth surface, feeling a faint, odd chill emanating from the page. Was this some kind of trick? His hand hovered over the page for a moment longer.

The book shifted. A subtle vibration ran through the pages, and the edges of the paper began to darken.

Before he could pull away, the contents of the book began to bleed into his skin, as though it were a living thing now.

His fingers tingled with an unnatural cold that crawled up his arms. The sensation spread rapidly, traveling across his chest, seeping deeper into him.

His heart began to race, the strange sensation turning to burning cold. The blood soaked into him with a maddening speed, relentless in its pull.

The pain, fierce and sudden, broke through his chest in jagged bursts, each breath growing more shallow. His body froze as the liquid coursed through him, an invasion he couldn't fight. The edges of his vision began to darken, and a strange numbness started to overtake him.

It was like something was grabbing his heart—tightening, crushing it from the inside. He could feel the pressure building, each beat becoming slower, more agonizing.

His body betrayed him, trembling violently, but he couldn't scream, couldn't even move. The last of his strength faded, and with one final, gut-wrenching squeeze, his heart stopped.

Silence.

His body slumped forward, lifeless, the book now a distant memory.

Then, out of the shadowed stillness, a figure appeared. Clad entirely in black, not a single inch of skin visible, the figure moved with deliberate steps toward the fallen man. The air grew colder with their presence, the weight of the moment pressing in.

They crouched beside the lifeless body, reaching down as if to feel for a pulse, but finding nothing. A shadow crossed their concealed face, their hands tightening into fists as they stood once more, staring down at the motionless form.

A soft, almost imperceptible murmur escaped their lips.

"No... it's too late."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

But even as the words left their mouth, the figure didn't give up. They knelt again, tracing a complex pattern in the air, their movements swift and precise. They muttered something incomprehensible under their breath, the shadows around them swirling like a dark vortex.

With a final sigh, they straightened, casting one last glance at the body. Unable to reverse the irreversible, the figure bent down, lifting the man's body into their arms as though it were nothing more than a weightless shell.

Without another word, they turned and vanished into the shadows, carrying him away from the place where life had left him.

...

The figure moved swiftly through the shadows, carrying the lifeless body in their arms. They approached the woman standing near a stone altar.

She was calm, her golden hair glowing faintly in the dim light. Her sharp eyes met the figure's, and without a word, she commanded, "Report."

The figure knelt, placing the body on the cold floor. "It happened too quickly. By the time I arrived, he was already dead. There was no sign of what caused it. I couldn't process it."

She stepped closer, her gaze focused and sharp. She examined the body with precision. Her fingers touched his chest, feeling the coldness of death. She pressed gently on his heart and frowned.

"This isn't normal," she muttered, her voice steady. "His heart is crushed—like it was squeezed from the inside. No weapon could do this. No physical force."

Her mind quickly analyzed the situation. "This was a trap. A curse, probably. Someone who knew what they were doing. But..." She paused, brows furrowing slightly. "I can't tell what kind of curse. There's no trace, no residue of magic. Whoever did this was careful."

She moved again, inspecting the body for any other clues but found nothing. No hidden marks, no signs of poison. It was as if the death had been erased.

She stood tall, her expression firm. "It's no accident."

Turning to the figure, she spoke calmly, "Take him to the chamber."

The figure nodded, lifting the body once more and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed on the lifeless form, her mind already working.

"Hmm..."

"Mr. Keeper, what trouble did you cause to end up like this?" she muttered, her gaze lingering on the fallen man.

"Though I don't want to resort to this, you've... sparked my curiosity."

Her fingers traced the edge of the stone altar, her thoughts racing. She was never one to act without reason, but this situation was different.

The silence in the room stretched as she considered her next move.

As she slowly pulled down his shirt, her sharp gaze lingered momentarily on his well-toned body, though her focus was purely clinical.

The silence of the chamber pressed in around her as she placed her hand on his chest, her expression calm.

The air seemed to grow heavier as a faint golden light began to emanate from her palm. The glow spread slowly, illuminating the lifeless form beneath her touch. Suddenly, without warning, the light erupted into a flame—soft and golden, yet brimming with an undeniable power.

The flames licked at his crushed chest, sinking into his flesh with a strange, almost serene purpose. They did not burn as ordinary fire would. Instead, they moved with intelligence, finding their way to the shattered heart within.

Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated, guiding the energy with precision.

"This ability... it should not be squandered," she murmured, almost as if reassuring herself. "Once in a decade—no, perhaps even longer. Yet here I am, using it on you, Mr. Keeper. Consider yourself fortunate."

The golden flame surged, its light intensifying as it began to consume the damage inside him. His crushed heart, irreparably mangled, began to reform under the purifying fire.

The flames danced with a quiet ferocity, erasing death's grip on him inch by inch. A faint pulse echoed beneath her hand—a heartbeat, weak but growing stronger.

She didn't stop, her focus unwavering as the fire completed its work.

Finally, the flames receded, leaving no mark on his skin. Her hand lingered on his chest for a moment longer, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart, now whole once more. A bead of sweat traced its way down her temple; even for her.