Voice Fault Spell? It’s more like bottled happiness, made with magic.

Blair was mesmerized. Each laugh seemed to bloom a new constellation of stars and a fresh array of flowers, each shaped uniquely and bursting with vibrant, shifting colors.

Evan’s youthful voice came bright, bubbly, and yellow, effervescent like sunlight bouncing off a spring morning. With every syllable, soft petals of pastel hues and greens unfurled, like fresh blooms in an untouched meadow. The sight was so vivid it felt as though the air itself was carrying the fragrance of those imagined blossoms.

Then came Morgante’s voice, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that whispered of strength and mystery. His tones conjured swirling galaxies, their nebulas rich and dark, painted in hues of deep blues, purples, and smoldering golds. Stars glinted like fragments of shattered light, suspended in the dark canvas of his presence.

Other voices followed, each unique, painting the magical scene with layers of sound and light. Some voices were soft and tender, weaving intricate floral patterns that glimmered with subtle beauty.

Others were louder and more boisterous, forming bursts of fiery reds and oranges, streaked with the energy of laughter so full it could shake the heavens.

The spell was more than magic; it was a symphony of memory made visible. Blair felt herself pulled deeper into it, as though she could reach out and touch the colors, feel the laughter in her fingertips.

It wasn’t just an auditory experience—it was alive, breathing, and blooming in front of her eyes, each voice a thread in an iridescent quilt of warmth and joy.

“I… I think I have a new favorite spell,” Blair said, her smile soft and genuine. Bunny chuckled lightly.

“...Me too…” Evan murmured, his mouth still hanging open in awe, while Morgante stood there, utterly frozen.

Bunny teased the air with her fingers one last time, and the spell faded away. It was silly, really—after millennia of existence, this was all she had to show for herself.

A handful of moments, scraps of warmth preserved through time like pressed flowers in a book. Not exactly the grand archives of an immortal being, was it?

She didn’t have many friends. And of the few she had, even fewer moments like this—moments of laughter and stories—ever made it into her collection.

Most of them, like everything else in her life, had come and gone in a blink, leaving her to gather whatever fragments she could before they disappeared completely.

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What she didn’t realize—though maybe she should have—was that, between the four of them here, she was the only one who might ever have the chance to gather this much laughter. Blair and Evan? They were just kids, weighed down by their roles and expectations, with little time to collect anything so frivolous.

And Morgante—Burn? Well, rulers tend not to leave much room for joy in their carefully controlled kingdoms. That was the price of putting the weight of the world on your own shoulders—no time left to carry the sound of laughter.

“I love it,” the man said as he reached out, pulling her waist to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Just wait long enough, and my voice will dominate it.”

He had eternity to make it happen.

“Mine too!” Yvain chimed in enthusiastically.

“That’s if you don’t die early, brat,” Burn shot back, his tone mocking.

“As long as you teach me your Force Magic, I won’t die! I’ll achieve Vessel Immortality one day too!” Yvain retorted, practically yelling.

“Oh, really?”

“Papa promised he’d teach me! So if I die, I’ll just demand compensation in the next loop!”

“You die quietly every time.”

“Yeah, but Mama brings me back every time, so bleh!”

“Bleh? Kek—you dare ‘bleh’ me, brat?”

“They’re talking nonsense,” Bunny said with a serene smile, turning her attention back to the visibly confused Blair. The girl nodded awkwardly, grateful for the change in focus.

“Now, are you ready to show me your favorite spell?” Bunny asked, her tone light but expectant.

“Yes,” Blair said with a bright smile. “It’s just a simple golem spell.”

Oh sure, simple. But as she began casting, it became clear this wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill spell. Her red string magic came to life, unraveling like thick, vibrant wool. Slowly, delicately, the strands twisted and coiled together, forming the unmistakable shape of a small, crocheted kitten.

Not just any kitten either—this one had an oversized, perfectly round head and comically large black button eyes that seemed to stare directly into your soul. It was equal parts adorable and slightly unnerving, like it could follow you home and silently judge your life choices.

As Blair worked, the golem came together with the precision of someone who’d clearly spent way too much time perfecting its design.

The fluffy little creature twitched its tiny yarn limbs as though it were testing out its new body, and honestly, the effect was almost too cute. It was the kind of spell you’d expect to win over anyone—right before it stole all their secrets with its unassuming charm.

“Adorbs!” Bunny d’awwed, clasping her hands together like she’d just seen the cutest being in existence.

Evan and Morgante turned toward her, curious at what had caught her attention. When they saw Blair’s creation, they froze. The little crocheted kitten, with its intricate red string weaving and hauntingly adorable black button eyes, immediately reminded them of the day Nemo’s body was formed in the Infinite Witch’s hands. It was no less intricate, no less stunning.

Bunny’s expression shifted, her playful smile softening into something more profound. Her eyes glimmered with genuine awe as she realized what she was witnessing. Another talent—one ready to bloom and take the world by storm.

“See, Mama? She’s as amazing as I told you, ri—”

COUGH!

Blood sprayed on the ground.

Blair’s eyes went wide, her pupils shrinking as panic overtook her. Bloodshot and unfocused, they darted around wildly while her trembling, blood-streaked hands shot up to clutch her neck, desperate and instinctive.

The crimson droplets slid between her fingers, vivid and horrifying against her pale skin, as if her body itself was rebelling against the magic she had so carefully woven.

This wasn’t a rampage.

This was a curse.