It had been months since I immersed myself in research, and time seemed to slip away unnoticed. The day-to-day rhythm at the Institute was almost comforting, filled with theories, experiments, and the occasional duel with Morrison in the underground coliseum. But peace is always fleeting.
One quiet afternoon, we were in the garden behind the Institute, talking about the Emperor Aurelio's return and speculating on the changes sweeping through the Empire.
"It feels like everything's moving too fast," March said, tossing a small stone into the pond at our feet. "Nobles scrambling for favor, alliances forming overnight."
"Better fast than stagnant," Morrison remarked, his usual grin in place. "Movement means opportunity."
I was about to reply when I noticed a pale boy running toward us. He stumbled, nearly falling before pressing a letter—damp with blood—into my hands. His eyes were wild with fear.
"Please," he whispered hoarsely. "Save Lord Marcus."
The boy collapsed, unconscious. My heart skipped a beat. Marcus?
I tore open the letter, my friends gathering around me as I read. The words scrawled on the parchment told a story of desperation, guilt, and fear.
"Raimon, I write this knowing it may be the last thing I ever do. I've been a pawn in their schemes for as long as I can remember, cursed to obey, to serve. But I can't live like this any longer. They will kill me—slowly, painfully—if they discover what I've done. Please, if there is any mercy in you, help me. I want to live. For the first time in my life, I want to be free."
I read the letter twice, the gravity of his words sinking in. Marcus's curse was consuming him from the inside out. If we didn't act immediately, there would be nothing left to save.
Without a word, I stood and gave a sharp nod to my friends. "We need to move. Now."
The hallways blurred as we sprinted toward Marcus's quarters, the heavy sound of our footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. When we reached his door, I threw it open without hesitation.
Marcus lay on the floor, his body pale and limp, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. His breaths were shallow, and his skin was ice-cold to the touch. The curse had already taken hold.
"There's no time," I muttered, scooping him up over my shoulder.
Morrison, March, and Mancil followed as I carried Marcus toward the laboratory deep within the Institute. I could feel his heartbeat—weak and uneven—against my back, as if the curse were squeezing the life out of him with every passing moment.
We burst into the lab, and without needing instructions, everyone took their positions. Mancil ignited the magical arrays we had set up for emergency procedures. Morrison prepared the purification tools, his hands moving quickly and confidently.
"Stabilize him first," I ordered, laying Marcus on the operating table. March poured the first vial of stabilizing potion down Marcus's throat, the enchanted liquid glowing faintly as it slid down. His body jerked violently, but his breathing eased slightly.
I worked methodically, the curse's presence sharp in my mind. "Activate the primary matrix," I instructed. Morrison's hands traced glowing runes in the air, binding Marcus to the purification array.
"We're running out of time," March muttered, glancing at the monitors tracking Marcus's vital signs. The lines were erratic, each spike a sign of the curse fighting back.
I reached for the vial of Purified Blood Serum, the culmination of everything we had learned. This was it—the key to saving Marcus. I carefully connected the vial to the infusion channel, and the serum began to flow into his veins.
Almost instantly, his body convulsed. The curse resisted violently, trying to expel the foreign essence. But I didn't falter.
"Hold him!" I shouted, and Morrison and Mancil pressed down on Marcus's shoulders, keeping him steady. March adjusted the stabilizing matrix, locking the serum in place.
For hours, we fought against the curse—an invisible enemy that seemed determined to rip Marcus apart. But we held our ground. The glow of the serum intensified, and slowly, the curse began to dissolve.
Finally, as the first light of dawn crept through the laboratory windows, Marcus's breathing steadied. The curse was gone. We had won.
Exhausted but relieved, I collapsed into a chair, watching Marcus sleep peacefully for the first time in years.
Morrison clapped a hand on my shoulder, grinning. "We did it."
I gave a tired smile, knowing that this victory was just the beginning. The path ahead was long and filled with challenges, but Marcus was alive—and free.
And that was all that mattered.