February 21st.

  God, what is happening? Why has everyone suddenly decided to get hitched? Every nook and cranny in the Academy is occupied by whispering couples. My face flared up so intensely I nearly burned a hole through my textbook with my gaze.

  "Don't even think about it, Alastia," I commanded myself.

  But my thoughts stubbornly kept drifting back to Greg. He was the only one. The only living being in this entire mad world who doesn't crumble to dust at my touch. The only one who lets me feel the warmth of skin instead of the cold of gloves.

  The question was too heavy. I realized I couldn't handle this on my own.

  "Grandmother..." I whispered. "Only you know the answers."

  I pulled an old crystal ball from the cabinet and began furiously pouring mana into it. Come on! Answer! The crystal trembled, and a familiar face appeared in its depths.

  "Alastia? Has something happened?"

  "Grandmother, I need your help. It’s about a boy... he’s not like the others."

  The woman in the sphere smiled softly. "Don't worry, my little spark. I’ll stop by this evening. We’ll talk."

  Evening came. I went out into the protective forest, where the silence felt different—heavier. From the sky, silently slicing the air with massive wings, she descended. Grandmother. I rushed to her and hugged her with all my might. She held me close, but even through the fabric of her gloves, I could feel how careful she was being.

  "How you’ve grown, Alastia," she whispered.

  "Grandmother, listen... He came to our Academy. That boy. The one from your stories. I... I touched him with my bare skin. And he didn't die. He didn't even notice!"

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  Grandmother froze. Her smile slowly faded, and she sat down heavily on a fallen tree. "Go on," she said quietly.

  "His name is Greg. One eye is a black hole, the other changes color every day. He’s strong, Grandmother. Incredibly strong."

  She sighed and looked up at the stars, covering her face with her hand. "Oh, Alastia..."

  We walked slowly along the path. The crunch of twigs under our feet seemed far too loud.

  "You noticed his power, didn't you?" she asked. "Zen... or Greg, as you call him. If he is the one from my stories, you must understand: age is just a meaningless number to him."

  "I don't care! I don't care how old he is!"

  Grandmother stopped. Her gaze became so heavy I wanted to hide. "Greg is cursed, Alastia. And his curse is the most horrific I have seen in all my centuries. You cannot build a future with him. You cannot simply 'live' with him."

  "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

  "Every fifteen years, he forgets everything," she spoke it like a death sentence. "The Curse of Oblivion. He resets, becoming a 'clean slate.' Fifteen years—and your name, your face, your feelings for him will simply vanish from his head."

  I stood rooted to the spot, feeling the cold seep under my jacket. "He forgets everything? Completely?"

  "Completely. I remember..." she faltered, and an ancient pain flickered in her eyes. "Once, he had children. But he could never accept the very idea that he was a father. His mind, locked in the body of a teenager, couldn't believe it. For his children, he could be an older brother at most, but never a pillar of support. And then... then he simply forgot them."

  Grandmother took my hands. "Greg promised himself he would never love again. Never get attached. He sees no meaning in life, Alastia. He is sad. Always. All this sleep, all this food and manipulation—it’s just his way of not thinking about the void inside. He needs someone to 'burn' for him. But he... he is not the one who can return that flame to you."

  "But Grandmother..."

  "And stop calling me Grandmother," she gave a sad smirk, spreading her wings. "You are an adult now. Call me by my name. Riza."

  I felt burning tears stream down my cheeks.

  "Don't cry, my child," Riza touched my face. "I am glad you found someone you can touch. It is a great gift to feel the warmth of another person. But my advice to you is this: find someone else. With your beauty and power, you can be happy. But Greg... Greg belongs to eternity, not to people."

  She pushed off the ground lightly and soared into the sky, dissolving into the night blue. I was left standing in the forest, staring at my empty palm, which still remembered the warmth of the "man from the fairy tale."