"I didn't know you could do that," Burn said. "I didn't know you could transfer the mana you're able to control through your Force to someone else."

"Normally, you can't. It's just that you two are a good match," Vlad replied, knowing that Burn would be able to catch his hint on how to help Morgan awaken.

Burn couldn't help but roll his eyes at Vlad's cryptic response. "What good match? She doesn't have the same Force affinity as I do. Not to mention her talent in Force is—”

"Zero, I know," A mischievous grin played on Vlad's lips, and Burn was sure of its presence under those veils. "Now you know why she's dying, right?"

Burn let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's obvious. Her body can't sustain itself without her Vision."

Vlad nodded knowingly, his eyes behind his veil twinkling with a hint of amusement. "But she's alive," he pointed out.

With a sarcastic quirk of an eyebrow, Burn retorted, "Because she is the Infinite Witch? What does that even mean? No, don't tell me to ask her."

Vlad couldn't help but chuckle as he finally finished brewing a cup of sweet milk tea. He turned to Burn, holding up the steaming cup. "Why not?" he asked, a note of mischief in his voice. "She's awake now."

"You address me with such ease now, young man. It pleases me to see you've shed any pretense in front of this old soul," Vlad remarked.

"Given your distinct personality and the isolation that often accompanies great strength, I find myself curious about how you interact with those under your command."

"Playing the tyrant wouldn't do me any good, not with you coddling me like this," Burn retorted as the man put the sweet milk tea in front of him.

“It so happens that you two are the complete opposite,” Vlad explained. He leaned back in his chair, the old leather creaking under his weight. “That’s why it worked.”

Burn crossed his arms defensively, his brows knitting together in a frown. “Not because our souls are connected by the curse?”

Vlad’s smile broadened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging Burn’s point.

“The curse itself might work in the first place because you’re a good opposite match,” he conceded, his hands gesturing gently in the air as if to balance the scales of fate between them.

Burn was right. The woman was planning everything to turn out this way.

"Fine," Burn declared, abruptly rising from his seat, the untouched milk tea still resting on the table. His movements were brisk, almost dismissive as he prepared to leave.

Vlad's eyes lit up with delight. "Bring the cup with you, boy. Drink it on the way."

"I'm not going to bring that with me," Burn shot back, his tone firm and final. Without another word, he turned on his heel, the door closing sharply behind him with a resolute click, sealing off the conversation.

Vlad sighed. “Sweet boy.”

***

Muscle atrophy.

After three years lounging in a vegetative state, Morgan Le Fay found herself in the regrettable position of dealing with muscle atrophy.

It seemed even the Infinite Witch wasn't immune to the whims of biology. There she was, with her muscles, decided to take an extended holiday.

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Upon waking, Morgan discovered that her weak physique had dwindled even more to something that would struggle to intimidate a well-fed pigeon.

Her arms, previously capable of moving elegantly, now seemed challenged by the heft of a teacup. Her legs, which had carried her through dimensions and battles, now wobbled like a novice on ice skates.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

As Morgan Le Fay clung to the wooden bar provided by the ever-so-accommodating vampires of the church—a makeshift gym for the magically incapacitated—she roared with a ferocity that would make a banshee consider a career change.

Weirdly, she sounded melodically good.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

“Why is she singing like that? It sounds good, but isn’t she straining herself?”

“She’s just screaming.”

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Each pull-up was a battle cry, each squat a declaration of war against her rebellious muscles. The air was thick with the sound of her grunts and groans, a symphony of pain and determination that echoed off the ancient stone walls.

But everything coming out of her mouth sounded good.

“Oh, Your Majesty Burn, are you visiting Miss Momo today?” one of the vampires greeted Burn when he approached.

Momo…

So the reason no one knew about “Morgan Le Fay” was because she was known as “Miss Momo” here.

“HAAAAAAAAAH!”

Yet, amidst her struggle of rehabilitation, Morgan's beauty remained ludicrously unaffected.

It was almost offensive how, between her gasps for breath and the beads of sweat cascading down her forehead, she could look like she had just stepped out of a fairy tale painting.

Her hair, though tousled, fell around her face in perfect disarray, catching the dim light in a way that seemed purposefully designed to add an ethereal glow.

Her skin, despite the strain, held a luminous quality, as if she were partly made of moonlight.

The vampires, ever the connoisseurs of human suffering and beauty, couldn't help but pause in their whisperings to admire the absurdness of her charm.

Simply, Burn bet Morgan would look beautiful in the middle of constipated shitting.

CLATTER! CRASH!

"Ah!"

"Miss Momo!"

"Oh no, are you alright?"

The vampires quickly gathered around her, visibly worried. They converged on her position as she lay on the ground, attempting to gently assist her.

She gradually got back on her feet, laughing at herself. "Well, what do you know? It's tough."

"Why don't you just use your Vision to fix yourself up?"

Burn suddenly inquired from a not-so-safe distance, his voice mildly frosty. He clucked his tongue disdainfully, "Pathetic."

The vampires clad in black robes shifted uneasily, their faces a mix of emotions behind their veils as they glanced at Burn.

Morgan retorted, "Oh sure, I could just blow all my little Vision on a self-repair. But then, what kind of guest would I be if I didn’t use the generous 'Force' gift card someone gave me?"

Force energy works best when you actually move your body, not just think really hard about moving it. Unfortunately for Morgan, her natural grace with Force energy was on par with a sloth's sprinting skills.

Combine that with her current state of looking like she lost a wrestling match with a tornado, and you've got a recipe for some seriously clumsy energy flow.

And let's be honest, taking this quick route was not just about efficiency—it was also about hoarding her Vision like a miser with gold coins. After all, why blow through your magical reserves when you can just limp along with the basics?

“Why? Are you trying to threaten me with my disciple?” Morgan asked. “You want me to hurry and lift your curse, so I’m working hard here.”

Silence enveloped the scene.

“Sisters, Brothers, thank you for worrying about me. I am alright. I’ll speak with His Majesty, so can you give us some space?” Morgan asked.

Yep.

That was one of the reasons Burn couldn’t speak freely with her this couple of days. The vampires were wary of him.

“Miss Momo…”

“It’s okay, I promise.”

With those final words, the vampires cast one last look of concern before they reluctantly departed.

Burn sarcastically sneered, “There you go, ‘Miss Momo’.”

Morgan chuckled.

He was about to sit on a nearby chair, but he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Morgan looking up at him, grasping at both his clothes and the wooden bar.

“I’ve spent your Force energy for today. Before we talk, please give me more.”