Blair saw red—literally. Her vision swam as the recoil tore through her body like a freight train. It had never been this harsh before. Why now? And for what? She wasn’t even using her best spell!

“Your Highness, calm down,” Morgan was at her side in an instant, her delicate frame supporting her small, trembling body with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Burn—ever the paranoid watchdog—was already narrowing his eyes, sensing that something was very, very wrong. He was one step away from yanking Morgan off Blair when—

“Monsieur Sator!”

Burn didn’t even flinch, though he recognized Finn’s voice immediately. The man was running toward them, out of breath and frantic.

“Monsieur! I just got a report—the First Prince and the Elven Princess have been kidnapped on their way here!”

What.

Burn’s mind spun like a wheel greased with chaos. The First Prince and Nahwu? Kidnapped? Of course they were. Because why not? It wasn’t like things were already spiraling into madness. And for what? Because they’d already lost Shorof? Someone was either making a point or just being particularly obnoxious today.

Morgan turned to Burn, her sharp, clear eyes locking onto his. She frowned, her perfectly sculpted brows creasing in just the right amount of irritation and focus. “Go. I’m fine here. I won’t fall for it again.”

Burn pointed a finger at her, index raised like a stern teacher scolding a particularly stubborn student. “You better not. If I blink and we’re back at that cursed entrance ceremony buffet, I’ll punish you even harder.”

To that, Morgan flashed him a smile—a little too confident for his liking. Burn, unwilling to let her charm him into second-guessing his instincts, turned decisively and walked away. Because when things started going sideways, someone had to act—and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be while he was babysitting someone else.

“Your Highness, focus. I’m going to calm your rampant Mana. Can you try breathing slowly for me?” Morgan coaxed, her voice as smooth and steady as silk—like she had all the time in the world despite the chaos unraveling around them.

Blair looked up at her, wide-eyed and trembling. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted ‘Evan’ sprinting toward them, Nemo, Matthew, and Alan trailing close behind.

“I’m scared…” she choked out, her voice thin.

“It’s okay. I won’t let you die,” Morgan said matter-of-factly.

Die. Now, normally, hearing the word would send anyone into a full-blown meltdown. Screaming, crying, maybe even fainting if they were particularly dramatic.

But Blair? No. Instead, the bluntness of it brought her calm. It was as if Morgante’s reassurance finally gave her permission to accept the truth—yes, she could die from chanting a single spell. And yes, it was absolutely unfair.

Dying? How unfair. How unbelievably unfair!

She finally had friends—people who didn’t just tolerate her but actually liked her. And now this? This was a serious condition, wasn’t it?

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

This wasn’t some fluke, some minor hiccup. So having terrifying side effects from using her Vision wasn’t normal after all, huh?! Those stupid court magicians! What did they know?! Nothing, apparently!

“Save me!” Blair cried out, raw and desperate. “No one listened to me when I said I was hurt! They ignored me, even though I had horrible nightmares and woke up with marks on my neck and limbs! And it’s all because… because…”

“Because you’re a bastard?” Morgan interrupted with a soft, serene smile.

Blair froze, stunned into silence, as did Matthew and Alan, their brains clearly short-circuiting. The only difference? Yvain. Yvain chuckled, the little menace.

Morgan tilted her head, still smiling like she’d just paid Blair the highest compliment in the world. “You sound exactly like my husband.”

At first, there was silence. And then—Blair broke into a laughing mess. Because clearly, what else do you do when life decides to take a sledgehammer to your dignity? And got praised for that?

Meanwhile, Morgan remained impossibly calm, her focus razor-sharp as she tried to tame the rampant mana threatening to tear Blair apart. She spared Yvain a quick glance, silently commanding him with the kind of look that could launch ships.

Yvain, bless him, immediately dragged the other two boys away to safety, no questions asked. Nemo, however, stayed behind and, without a word, started constructing a proper mana barrier.

Morgan side-eyed Nemo who just did something without being told again. But whatever. One crisis at a time.

Pouring holy energy into Blair, Morgan got to work. The corrupted mana writhing inside Blair like a nest of snakes made her job both infuriating and delicate.

She could feel it—twisted, filthy, and very, very out of place. Holy energy was the antidote, but it wasn’t the time to ask Blair how on earth this mess got into her system. Priorities.

“There you go,” Morgan coaxed, her voice steady and gentle. “You can do it. See those dirty, vile little threads of mana wrapped around your soul? The ones that hurt to use? Expel them. Push them out. Do you feel my energy? Replace it. Take the pure energy and shove the rest out. You can do it, Your Highness.”

Blair tried. She really did. But all she felt was the unbearable tightness—like an invisible thin tread wrapped tightly around her neck, binding her wrists and ankles, pulling at her limbs like a grotesque marionette.

She could feel something, someone, yanking at her very control, and it was like she was on the brink of losing her own body.

“I’m scared! I’m scared!” Blair choked, panic swallowing her words whole.

Morgan’s smile tightened as her teeth grit together, the edges of her patience showing for just a split second. “How brave,” she said, almost through clenched teeth. “Do you know how much bravery it takes to tell someone you’re scared? But that’s fine. It’s okay to be scared. You’re dying after all.”

A beat.

“But it’s not over yet!” Morgan’s voice cut through, sharp as steel and unrelenting. Because apparently, even on the brink of disaster, she wasn’t about to let anyone call it quits. Not on her watch.

Blair roared—a guttural, primal sound that shattered what little calm remained. Her voice unleashed a tidal wave of pure Mana, ripping through the air with enough force to drown out even sound itself. Everything fell silent, swallowed by the oppressive vacuum left in its wake.

Thin, thread-like marks on her neck, wrists, and ankles began to ooze an ominous, mud-like black substance, bubbling and writhing as if alive. Her eyes—once the soft purple of the Inkia Royal lineage—flared blood-red, the color of something ancient and angry.

The sheer force of her Mana burst out of her tiny body like a hurricane given flesh. Fierce, violent, unnatural. It was a storm—one Morgan had seen before. Yvain’s rampage came to mind, but this? This was different. This was corruption let loose.

Morgan’s arm strained against the backlash. Her skin blistered, tore, and peeled under the relentless blast, but she didn’t so much as flinch. The price of standing too close to a miracle—or a disaster—was steep.

And then they appeared.

A pair of blackened, monstrous hands, dripping with a thick, mud-like corrupted Mana, hovered in the air as if clawing their way out of the void itself. Each finger was tethered by thin, sinister red threads, trailing down to Blair’s neck, wrists, and ankles, like the strings of a master puppeteer controlling her every move.

The sight was grotesque, a twisted mockery of life—undeniably wrong, yet hauntingly familiar.

Morgan’s lips curled into a grin.

“So you bear a grudge after all, huh, Demon Lord?” she said, her voice laced with both mockery and exhilaration. “Or should I call you… Lance Inkor?”