White hair. Gold eyes. A room steeped in silence, the air holding only the faintest trace of wax from scentless candles. Sunlight pressed against the closed window, bright but distant, casting sharp lines across the floor. For a long time there was nothing, no movement, no sound. Then, at last, the quiet stir of a page turning. Followed by another. A lone woman lay sprawled on her bed, a book open in her hands, her expression shifting from confusion to contemplation before settling into something unreadable. Beneath that mask though, something churned.

  She exhaled, pressing a hand to her eyes. When she lowered it, she turned another page. Then flipped back. Then forward again. Then back. Over and over, rereading the same lines in a cycle that led nowhere. The words blurred, meaning slipping through her fingers no matter how tightly she grasped. Eventually, she let the book fall from her hands, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in a pillow. A muffled sigh, drawn-out and heavy.

  And then, stillness.

  A knock at the door. Soft, polite.

  Elise bolted upright, a corpse revived. "Who is it?" she asked, voice quick, as if guilty.

  "It’s me my lady," came a familiar reply. "The items you requested have arrived. Shall I bring them to your room now?"

  "The mana stones?"

  "Yes, my lady."

  "Then yes. Immediately."

  "Understood. I shall return shortly.”

  Elise dragged herself out of bed, sluggish and hollow-eyed, the leather-bound book clutched in one hand. Her bare feet slid across the wooden floor as she made her way to the center table, ignoring the slippers set neatly by her bedside. With a dull thud, she dropped the book onto an already precarious pile and forced herself to look away. She would not touch it again, at least, not for a while.

  It had consumed her all morning. 'The Lands Beyond the Ussari River' a convoluted mess of personal accounts from adventurers and merchants, mythological fairy tales, and scraps of knowledge that seemed to contradict themselves as often as they enlightened. Even so, it wasn’t the contents that unsettled her. It was the gaps. The things left unsaid.

  Ever since her conversation with her father two days ago, an idea had taken root in her mind, uninvited and relentless. At first, she had dismissed it, a passing jest, nothing more. But by next nightfall, it had gnawed at her, growing from idle curiosity to something sharper, something urgent. So she had gone to her family library, rifled through shelves, searched, read, and read some more, until a realization struck her like a mace to the ribs.

  Why had she never questioned this before? Had she been blind? Presumptuous? Too dogmatic in her thinking? Or was it something worse, arrogance, overconfidence, the kind that let her believe she already knew everything worth knowing?

  Perhaps it was all of these things. Or perhaps it was because, despite the subtle changes in her family and the world around her, the grand design of her life had remained eerily unchanged.

  Her homeland was the same. Her status was the same. The lesser lands of Lesh Taudi, the kingdom of Velanor, the rigid social structures that governed them, the very foundations of power, unchanged.

  Even her education was identical. She had been taught only what was necessary: etiquette, the intricate social hierarchies of her station, the land ownership laws of her kingdom. Everything else could be learned later, when adulthood came as she honed her administrative skills under her mother’s guidance.

  And she had believed it. Accepted it without question. Convinced herself that whatever differences this life held would be minor in the grand scheme of things. She had been too focused on her immediate family, too anchored in routine to consider what lay beyond the borders of her homeland.

  Until now.

  Until her most recent resolve hardened into something undeniable.

  She would not repeat her past, to not repent.

  If one had to ask where it all began, the moment her suffering took root, the instant her innocence was torn away, Elise could name it without hesitation.

  The burning of Taudi. The fall of Bazeers Keep. The death of her father and brother. The separation from her mother.

  One event. One catalyst. A spark that had defined everything that followed, setting her on a path she neither chose nor wanted but had embraced nonetheless. With fury. With purpose. With the kind of resolve that carried her to the very day of her death.

  If one asked her to pinpoint the exact day when everything went wrong, she could do so without a moment’s hesitation or doubt.

  The invasion of Velanor by the Holy State of Kinscar.

  That was the day. An event so deeply ingrained in her psyche that it became the foundation of her very being. To deny its existence would mean denying herself. And even if she somehow outgrew her pain, even if she shed beyond the person she was now, that day would remain, forever, the beginning of her story.

  A mere two days ago, when she finally resolved to end her tormented existence, she had awoken to an early morning like any other, paralyzed by indecision. And when that resolution came, the first thought in her mind had been this invasion. How to stop it. How to prevent it. How to make herself strong enough to fight alongside her father. Every plan she had made had been for this purpose alone. Convincing her father to let her prove her worth, to take up the blade once more, and to pursue the countless other dreams she had envisioned in preparation for this war.

  How many times had she dreamed of this in the old life? To be the hero of her own story. To prevent her own downfall.

  But what if it was all meaningless? What if someone told her that the invasion would never happen? That it couldn’t happen?

  What would become of her resolve then?

  And what if that same person told her that the nation she had spent a lifetime hating, the enemy that had shaped her into what she was today, did not exist?

  The truth settled over her like a slow, creeping horror.

  The fact of the matter was, to Elise’s great distress, the Holy State of Kinscar does not exist in this world. Not now, not ever.

  She was distressed in so many ways, none of which made any sense. In reality, she should have felt relief, comforted by the fact that the nightmare scenario she’d feared could never happen. The spear could be laid down. She could look upon her family with a smile. This was a chance to live the very life she should have had. A noble girl, from birth, till death. No blade, no war, no endless training in the wild groves. No more dried beef eaten over a fire, forced to drink from a blood-dyed river that was her only source of water.

  But she couldn’t. She just... couldn’t. The past haunted her. Faces, too many faces, haunted her. Of those who had sacrificed everything, of those she had come to love, and of those who had died in her stead. Everything she had lived through, everything she had done, wouldn’t let her go. Others might have laid down their swords, accepted their new lives, seeing it as a necessary shift from one extreme to another. But they were different. They could accept it, could make peace with that change in perspective. She couldn’t. To her, it would feel like a betrayal. If she let go of the past, if she allowed herself to be content, it would be a lie. The years of pain, the sacrifices, everything would lose its meaning, even to herself.

  For what? To make peace with herself? To find contentment when she had witnessed so many others, with grander dreams, vanish in a pool of their own blood? To simply forget them? In a world where she alone carried the memory of their dreams, their hopes, their lives, would she let all of that slip away, swallowed by the emptiness of self-peace? There were so many who existed only in the quiet recesses of her mind, their faces, their names, haunting her with each breath she took. Could she really let go of it all for the sake of her own solace?

  There was a name for this, survivor’s guilt. Elise couldn’t claim to fully understand the weight of the term, but she knew shame.

  Her life as a noble had been taken from her, and it was a life she had no desire to reclaim. She didn’t want it back. Her hand itched, her mind ached. She badly wanted to wield a blade.

  Elise exhaled sharply, her breath shaky as she fought for composure. A deep, heavy somberness settled over her, running her fingers against the book in front of her, the faint distraction of fingernails raking leather. She should have died back there, for her own sake. She hadn’t asked for any of this. At least in that old world, even if no one had fully understood her pain, there had always been those who shared her experiences. She could have talked to them about the invasion, the aftermath, or literally anything, and there would have been someone who knew exactly what she was talking about. Even their mere presence was enough. They were there, same as her, someone... anyone.

  But here? She was condemned to a life of solitude, in every sense. She had been cursed with knowledge she could never speak of. To do so would invite madness in the eyes of others, they would call her insane and never regard her the same again. No friends, no comrades who had fought beside her in battles that no longer existed. Graves too distant to visit, because they had yet to be buried. Hell, she would even find comfort in an old tree under which she had once trained, she would travel halfway across the world just to sit beneath it again. To speak sweet words to it, for it had shared her strife, it had stood with her then, a witness to her life. But here, there was nothing, no soul in sight.

  So, what was she supposed to do now? Keep the resolve, to protect her family, her land, from a threat that no longer existed? Perhaps other threats might emerge, but what was she to do in the meantime? What was true, however, was that she could no longer remain confined. She was no longer someone who could be bound to just a noble's life. So, the journey beyond awaited. The catalyst may be gone, but she had come to hate more than just the State of Kinscar in her later years.

  She sank into a chair with the weariness of someone who had just completed an exhausting exercise, resting her cheek against her palm as she studied the books before her. Naturally, one would be curious about what had replaced their archenemy. A nation didn’t simply vanish without an equal replacement. And the answer? An entirely new race of people.

  When she first discovered that the State of Kinscar no longer existed, she had logically expected another state to take its place. An entire nation, along with its people, couldn’t simply disappear, could it? That would be too drastic a change. She would have to question everything with suspicion when using her past memories as a reference going forward. Imagine her surprise when that was exactly the case.

  In Kinscar’s place stood Sintra Minor. Not a human kingdom, not a successor state, but something entirely different. The lands beyond the Ussari were now home to the Qunnari, specifically a subset called the Bellissaries. She hadn’t even known the race of iron had subsets, or if this was the only one. The books suggested the homanits of Sintra bore no particular hostility toward Velanor, beyond the expected seasonal raiding parties.

  The Ussari River served as a natural barrier, dividing Lesh Taudi’s eastern border from Sintra Minor. The race of iron seems unwilling to cross it in force, at least not in large enough numbers to justify a war, whether out of pragmatism, disinterest, or internal strife, she could only guess. The books spoke often of clan wars and bitter infighting. Whatever the reasons, the river held. And as long as it did, the weapons trade thrived when one has Qunnari as neighbors.

  The door knocked again, pulling Elise from her thoughts.

  "It's me again," came the familiar voice. "I have the stones you requested."

  "Wait," she ordered, rising from her chair. "I'm not properly dressed." She strode to the foot of her bed, slipping into her slippers and draping a dress coat over her chemise, the skirt brushing just past her knees. With a final glance to ensure modesty, she straightened. "You may come in."

  The door creaked open, and Quinn entered, a small wooden box cradled in both hands. She inclined her head in a brief bow before placing it carefully on the table, beside the stacked books.

  Elise studied her, sensing hesitation. "What is it?"

  "Nothing, my lady," Quinn said, though her tone dimly betrayed curiosity.

  Elise arched a brow. "You look like you have something to say. I hope I haven't misjudged our friendship. I assumed we were close enough for you to speak freely, especially in private, where there are no prying eyes."

  Quinn averted her gaze for a moment before speaking. "You rarely make requests, if ever. So when you asked for these mana stones, small and insignificant as they are, I couldn't help but wonder why." She lifted the lid of the box, plucking one of the stones between her fingers. It was a transparent silver, barely the size of a fingernail, faintly reminiscent of glass, with a pale bead of light flickering at its core. "You can't do anything with these. The castle doesn't even keep them in stock, I had to send someone to the city to get them. At best, they're used for cheap jewelry, a child's toy, or beast feed. At worst, they’re worth less than dirt. These aren’t even cut. If you need a new light source, I can fetch a brighter stone."

  "No, that would be wasteful, and potentially dangerous for what I intend to do with them. These will do fine."

  Quinn tilted her head, frowning. "Dangerous?"

  "Sit," Elise said, lowering herself into the chair at the opposite end of the table.

  Quinn hesitated, before complying, though unease flickered in her posture. Sitting at the same table as Elise carried implications, repercussions she was keenly aware of. It suggested a kind of equal footing, a position too precarious for a servant. Even with her aristocratic lineage, she remained far beneath Elise in status. To sit as her equal was a privilege. To assume it was a risk.

  "Quinn, I owe you an apology," Elise said, her voice measured but sincere. "For putting you in such a position, and for the sudden shift in mood. But I want us to have a serious conversation."

  "There is no need for you to apologize, my lady. But… what is it you wish to discuss?"

  "How long have you served this house?"

  "Since my thirteenth winter," Quinn replied, reticence creeping into her tone. "I'll see my twenty-first in service before this winter ends."

  Elise assessed her, noting the careful way she spoke, the modest dip of her head. "And in all those years, you've gathered more experience in your role than I've had years to live."

  "It is nothing worth praising my lady."

  Elise exhaled, half a sigh, half a quiet laugh. "It's hard to take pride in your accomplishments when you view them as mere duty, isn't it? But I think you've severely underestimated your value to this house, and to me."

  A flicker of something passed over Quinn’s face, unreadable and fleeting. Then, a subdued smile. "When I speak to you, I sometimes feel as though I’ve wasted time. That I’ve grown too accustomed to my place, too settled to seek improvement. You are so... articulate, my lady. I often find myself at a loss for words."

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

  "You've been with me since I was a child, a baby," Elise continued, her voice softening. "My mother placed you in this role on a whim when the older servants bickered over rank. By sheer luck, you excelled. Since then I've never required anyone else. And now, though your position is unofficial, everyone knows you're mine. No one dares burden you with tasks that would pull you away from me. But what I want to know, is whether you wish to remain in this service."

  Until now, Quinn had mostly avoided her gaze, eyes darting to the floor, the table, anywhere but Elise. But at those words, she lifted her head, her dark eyes locking onto Elise’s for the first time that noon.

  "Now listen, before you say anything. I'm not demanding an answer, nor should you, if you don't wish too. Even at your age, you remain unmarried. Girls younger often leave service to start families, others divide their time. To be a servant of the Taudi is a great honor, and I'm sure you're never short of suitors. I just wonder, what are your goals?"

  "Are you… asking me to be your personal maid?"

  Elise almost laughed, unable to hide the warmth in her smile. "Why do you sound so surprised? Everyone already knows my opinion of you. No one dares challenge your place. There was never any doubt about who my maid would be. But that doesn’t matter if it isn’t what you want."

  Quinn moved as if to rise, hands twitching toward the folds of her dress to steady herself for a bow. But before she could, Elise raised a hand, stopping her mid-motion.

  “There’s no need for that, Quinn. Again, we’re alone.” A pause, measured and deliberate. “But if you truly wish to be my personal maid, understand that it will be nothing like what you’ve been told. So listen carefully, hear my terms before you commit.”

  Quinn lowered herself back into the chair, nodding once. “Speak... I will listen, my lady.”

  "I know the title itself implies as much, but let me make it unmistakably clear, I require absolute secrecy and loyalty. You will serve me and me alone. Even if my family questions you about what you've seen, you will not speak, no matter the consequence. I may ask you to take great risks, to carry out tasks without explanation, to act in ways that may seem senseless. Still, you must obey."

  Quinn’s expression did not waver. “You need not explain this. It is a given. I will do what is required, until ash.”

  Elise regarded her for a long moment, then shifted her tone. “And your desires?”

  “My desires?”

  “There may be things you want that I cannot provide. I cannot promise to look after you, despite taking you as my maid.”

  “You know of my desires?”

  “I can only guess. Marriage, for instance, if that is something you wish. For the foreseeable future, I will demand your full attention. And by the time I allow you to seek a husband, you may have lost your flowering years. Many do not seek the old.”

  “Oddly enough, my lady, union in trust has never been something I greatly desired. It always felt like an expectation, something I would eventually have to do, but no longer. I have many nephews. My bloodline will continue even without my contribution, and my parents do not pressure me. It is good to have the privilege of worth.”

  “And your other desires?”

  “Do I have others?” Quinn smiled gently. “If I do, they are minor. Nothing outweighs my wish to remain by your side.” She paused, a slight nervousness. “You may not realize it, but it is difficult to leave someone you have watched for so long. I have spent my entire adult life at your side. It would be painful to see another take my place. If not me, then someone else would serve you, and I do not think I would have the strength to bear that.”

  “You've always given me the impression that nothing could break your act. I never imagined you had boundaries, let alone ones so… territorial.”

  “Do I seem so different in your eyes my lady?”

  “I don’t think I know anyone calmer than you. It would be nice to see Willow and my sister share such a bond one day.”

  Quinn’s composure returned. “I still do not understand why Madam agreed to take on such fresh blood. Many of the older servants whisper among themselves, their jealousy plain. They say a lady’s maid is a position of immense importance, that it should not be given to a child, least of all one who does not yet grasp its significance.”

  “Have there not been kings crowned in adolescence? They may not understand their role at first, but in time, they grow into it. All that is needed is a good teacher. And with the head maid guiding her, Willow will manage.”

  “Madam is not one to break procedure so easily. To allow her daughter to take on such a maid is… unusual. That they are of the same age, is that enough? If I had no one to serve, perhaps I too would feel as the others do.”

  Elise stared, thoughtful. “I believe I understand my mother, at least, in part. Or perhaps this is only my assumption. I suspect her instinct in nurture took over, thinking that a naive little duck would fare best with a timid but growing silk. And I would agree. Willow may not suit someone like me, but for my sister? She is the perfect fit. They will learn the world together, and perhaps, in time, grow as close as kin.”

  Quinn sighed. “Whenever you speak, I can’t help but think about your age. You sound old. Some might think you're putting on airs, but I know this is just how you are, and it perplexes me. If your words were written in letter, even the gifted wouldn't guess your age. But if you exchanged enough letters, they’d start making assumptions. Still, I'd have to guess as to where you get your knowledge. But that's an entirely different matter."

  “Old in a good or bad way?”

  “Ever heard the folk tales about the Lying Hare? I distinctly remember an old man in that story, the one who warns the child about her actions. He comes off as pedantic, presumptuous, overbearing, and, dare I say, even verbose.”

  “I suddenly have the urge to forget your answer.” With a dismissive flick of her hand, she pushed herself up from her chair. “But enough of this. I’ve said what I wanted.” She circled the table, stopping in front of Quinn, her gaze lowered. Reaching into the small wooden box, she plucked out a rough, faintly glowing stone and held it out. “Now, it’s time for a test.”

  Quinn frowned. “A test?”

  “Yes. For you. And while I know you’ll do well, it’s less about passing and more about understanding how things will be between us from now on, more or less...”

  Quinn eyed the transparent stone warily. “What test could you possibly give that I haven’t passed already?”

  Elise’s lips curled in amusement. “Secrecy.” Without hesitation, she tossed the stone into her mouth and swallowed.

  Quinn shot to her feet, her pulse spiking. “My lady! That’s dangerous! How could you—”

  Elise firmly placed a finger against her maid’s lips. “Quiet,” she whispered. “Unless you want someone to hear and come investigate.” Her voice was calm, her gaze unreadable. “Stand still and watch. I can’t explain, but you’ll have to trust me. This is what you must grow accustomed to. Understand, my dear unanointed maid?”

  Quinn swallowed hard, unease twisting in her chest. But she obeyed.

  She watched in tense silence as Elise stepped into the center of the room, sank gracefully to the floor, closed her eyes, and settled into meditation.

  Mana stones were poisonous to any being that consumed them, except to those they came from. For the bright races, any form of mana that did not originate within their own bodies was not just harmful, but potentially corrupting to those with weak minds. A force that twisted and burned from the inside out. So why did Elise swallow the stone, knowing the agony that awaited her?

  The answer was simple. She had a goal. And that goal demanded an extreme solution given her situation. She wasn't patient enough to wait, nor creative enough to devise a better alternative.

  Strength ruled the world. Authority, influence, these were just softer manifestations of the same force. When all else failed, when words and reasoning collapsed under the weight of reality, only one truth remained: strike first. Strike hardest. That was the purest form of justice in this world.

  It didn’t matter if a man was wrong in words, in morals, or in intellect. If he was strong, he was right. The dead could not argue. Philosophy, courtesy, codes of conduct, these were fragile things, dependent on the illusion of safety. If a man they rejected for immorality came with a blade and none could stop him, what value did these ideals hold? None. The world does not care for societal decency.

  Towns did not exist without guards. Kingdoms did not stand without soldiers. Wars were not won without heroes. Trade could not flourish in chaos, scholars could not study amidst fire, and justice did not survive in the wake of destruction. Civilization itself teetered on a fragile foundation, held up by those willing to stain their hands so others could keep theirs clean. It was the warrior class that ensured the privileges of civilization remained intact, that the world's cruelty did not breach their societies.

  They fought so that creativity, learning, and peace could thrive, so that more subtle ideals like ethics, politeness, and empathy could endure. And no one understood the value of peace more than those who fought in a world that sought to strip them of it.

  Thus, these warriors pursued the purest forms of violence to protect the abstract. They threw themselves into an existence where only the fittest survived, not for its own sake, but so others wouldn’t have to. Because they understood what the weak had that they did not. The blade drew blood so merchants could trade. They bled so scholars could teach. They fell so their children could grow.

  And if Elise had to burn herself alive from the inside out to reclaim that strength, then so be it.

  For a warrior, one of the purest paths to strength was through leveling up. But leveling, in and of itself, was no simple task. There was no clear method, no map to follow. No one could teach it, and those who had achieved it could only offer vague, inconsistent guidance. Ask any veteran how to gain levels, and you'd receive a dozen different answers, each shaped by their personal journey. Yet, despite the differences in answers, all of them shared one consistent theme.

  Survival. Suffering.

  It was impossible to level up without breaking something, bones from a brutal blow, spirit from unbearable stress, achieving personal enlightenment, or sheer grit. Struggle was the only path to growth. Killing in a world that wished you dead was the ideal environment. A warrior’s true choice was to step feet-first into hell, embracing a place where nothing but strength and willpower remained. Elise had grown to know that place well, and even, in strange moments, missed it. Especially now.

  In battle, time was measured not by minutes or hours, but by seconds. In that fleeting span, everything was focused on the present, on survival. Flowers that took years to bloom could be crushed beneath boots in an instant. Decades of experience could vanish in a single corpse. For those who wanted to mourn the loss of wealth or luxury, a battlefield was the place to go. Thousands of bodies littered the earth, sacrificed so that a few lucky souls might gain strength, though it was never guaranteed. Levels, after all, were fickle things, bestowing their rewards with maddening inconsistency.

  So how could Elise hope to level up in an environment where she could barely take a step, let alone fight? The answer was simple, she couldn’t.

  But there was an exception to levels, and it only applied to the first. If someone could gain their own mana and learn to control it, they would achieve their first level without struggle. Still, such knowledge didn’t make the process any easier. Levels, at their core, were a reflection of the mana within, a symbol of the latent power someone possessed. It made sense, then, that one could bypass the trials of survival and attain their first level simply by gaining the ability to wield mana. The problem was how.

  So Elise had a theory. A stupid one, admittedly, but a theory nonetheless.

  She had the benefit of memory, a master’s understanding of mana, and decades of experience. She knew the sensation of wielding it, knew it in her soul. So she reasoned, if she consumed mana, ignored the consequences, and focused solely on feeling its source, she might make it her own. And in doing so, would achieve her first level.

  Was this a potentially groundbreaking method? Yes. Could anyone else do it? Probably not. She had the advantage of past experience in a body that never crossed the boundary, making this method useless to veterans, who already acquired mana, and suicidal to novices, who lack sensation.

  Even if she shared her theory, she sincerely believed it would be impossible for others to replicate. For those who had never wielded mana, its sensation was indescribable. Even veterans with decades of experience couldn’t articulate it, herself included. One couldn't accurately convey something so intuitive to someone who had never known it. That was why she was the only one foolish enough to test this method.

  Mana, like a skill, became second nature once acquired, like a limb, used instinctively, requiring only momentary focus for execution. But describing it? That was another matter. She couldn't explain how her brain moved her hand, it simply did. Most of the time, she didn’t think about her arm, only about the object it held. A hammer striking a nail, a blade cutting through the air, these were actions, not conscious thoughts. It was easy to explain to someone with arms of their own, but to someone without? Nearly impossible.

  Without direct exposure, some experiences could just never be described, like explaining dye to someone who is color blind, the taste of a fruit to someone who has never eaten it, or emotions like love or grief to someone who has never felt them. Without a frame of reference, how could the ignorant truly understand?

  A blind man had once told her he could never grasp the concept of a horizon. He understood the words, knew that it was a place always far away, out of touch, the idea that one could walk forever without reaching it, or that objects grew smaller as they receded into the distance. He could vaguely imagine it, but he admitted he would never truly understand.

  And so, Elise would attempt to gain sight in a body that had none.

  How long had it been since she consumed the stone? A few minutes? Time had become a blur, stretching and warping as she sat, cross-legged, silent, and still. Her focus sharpened, every sense honed on the task at hand, waiting for the stone to begin its insidious work.

  And then, it came.

  A wave of nausea slammed into her. She fought it, clenching her jaw, resisting the primal urge to vomit. Her body, realizing the poison it had swallowed, began to rebel, desperate to expel it. The sickness was instant, sharp, nauseating, a twisting churn in her stomach that felt almost grotesque in its intensity. Yet, she remained still, forcing herself to ignore the waves of discomfort, her mind reaching for that elusive source of energy she had hoped to connect with.

  Her skin began to burn. It felt as though her flesh were being seared, a cruel, blistering heat radiating outward from the core of her being. Her breathing hitched and faltered, erratic for a moment, but she forced herself to steady it, drawing deep, steady breaths, one after the other.

  Mana, in such sparse concentrations, shouldn't be able to cause permanent harm, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't make this unbearable. The low mana concentration was why these stones were deemed almost entirely useless, and also why she considered them the safest option for her theory.

  Minutes passed, stretching on and on. Her body felt as if it were slowly being consumed by flames. If she had ever imagined what it might be like to burn alive, this was it. Her mind splintered, her focus beginning to falter under the weight of the pain. The urge to vomit had subsided, but that was only because the mana had fully saturated her system, and still, nothing, no surge of power, no flicker of energy. She could not feel the mana. Only the distracting agony of her body rejecting what it didn’t understand.

  The pain was all-consuming. It gnawed at her from the inside out, relentless. Sweat dripped down her face, and her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Her body trembled with each breath, her nerves alive with an unbearable tingling sensation, sharp and persistent like a thousand needles beneath her skin.

  This was fucking stupid. The thought flickered through her mind, sharp and clear, as the tremors in her limbs grew more violent. This whole idea was insane. But still, she forced herself to stay still, to hold on, even as her consciousness swayed, threatening to slip away.

  Weakness washed over her in waves, draining her of all strength. She opened her eyes and her vision immediately blurred, her balance slipping. She began leaning to one side, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse, to succumb to the dizziness wishing to take her.

  And then, as if from nowhere, a hand grasped her arm, steadying her, lifting her to her feet.

  Quinn leaned in, her stomach twisted in anxious knots as she examined Elise’s pale features. “My lady? My lady?!”

  “Don’t yell,” Elise barely managed to say. “My ears are ringing.”

  “I’m getting a doctor.”

  “No…” Elise took a step, then staggered. Her legs felt like lead, refusing to move the way she wanted. She clenched her jaw. “No one must know of this. Do you understand?”

  Quinn hesitated, torn between duty and instinct. Then, reluctantly, she nodded and moved to support Elise, unsteadily guiding her toward the bed. “My lady, this is beyond reckless. What are you even trying to do? Everyone knows not to consume these.”

  “Cover for me. Say that… I’m sick.”

  “But—” Quinn swallowed hard, keeping her voice measured. “You can’t do this again.”

  Elise attempted a laugh, but it crumbled into a coughing fit. With effort, she pulled herself onto the bed, her limbs trembling. “I asked for a small box full. How many stones do you think that is? I won’t know for sure unless I attempt this multiple times.”

  “B-but why? What would compel you to do this to yourself?”

  A drop of red splattered onto the white sheets. Then another. Warm liquid trickled from Elise’s nose. She pinched it shut with a shaky hand, but the sight made Quinn’s stomach lurch.

  “Trust me,” Elise whispered. “That’s all I ask of you. I fear to explain, and you wouldn't understand.”

  "You shouldn’t make such assumptions of me. I didn’t live my years just to disregard yours."

  "I’m sorry, but I do. I assume many things. But this isn’t about you, it’s about me. I'm the problem. So please, grant me this silence my dear maid."

  Quinn stood frozen, watching as Elise settled against the pillows with the sluggishness of someone far older, more exhausted. This wasn’t just dangerous, it was madness.

  Why was she doing this to herself? The sight of Elise, weak and suffering, sent waves of unease through her. If there was even the slightest chance Elise could die here, Quinn would never forgive herself. The only thing stopping her from running for help was Elise’s unwavering command.

  She had no idea how lethal mana stones truly were, only that people had died from consuming them. But if Elise asked for silence, then silence she would keep. There was a fine line between blind obedience and taking initiative, and Quinn’s intuition told her that, in this case, obedience was the wiser choice.

  “I’ll consult a doctor,” Quinn murmured, as if to soothe her own conscience. “See if I can find a way to help without raising alarm. If not, I’ll search the books, with your permission. And if you insist on continuing this idiocy, you’ll do so under my watch.” She exhaled sharply. “But you will owe me an apology when you recover.”

  Elise’s lips curled into a ghost of a smile. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  This was worse than she had anticipated. The pain was unbearable, searing through her like fire. She had grown soft without realizing it, and now her body made her pay for that weakness. She would need time to recover, and redevelop a tolerance to struggle. It seems she could only attempt this once every week or two, maybe longer. Any more than that, and she’d be a fool in the truest sense.

  Her vision blurred further. The pain somehow grew deeper, she could feel it in her bones. And then, inch by inch, breath by breath, without her notice, Elise slipped into unconsciousness.