Bir 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!

  “Yhness, calm down,” Man was at her side in an instant, her delicate frame supp her small, trembling body with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Burhe paranoid watchdog—was already narrowing his eyes, sensing that something was very, very wrong. He was oep away from yanking Man off Bir when—

  “Monsieur Sator!”

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

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

  What.

  Burn’s mind spun like a wheel greased with chaos. The First Prind 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 particurly obnoxious today.

  Man turo Burn, her sharp, clear eyes log 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 fi her, index raised like a stern teacher scolding a particurly 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, Man fshed him a smile—a little too fident for his liking. Burn, unwilling to let her charm him into sed-guessing his instincts, turned decisively and walked away. Because when things started going sideways, someone had to ad it sure as hell wasn’t going to be while he was babysitting someone else.

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

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

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

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

  Die. Now, normally, hearing the word would send ao a full-blowdown. Screaming, g, maybe even fainting if they were particurly dramatic.

  But Bir? No. Instead, the bluntness of it brought her calm. It was as if Mante’s reassurance finally gave her permission to accept the truth—yes, she could die from ting 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 dition, wasn’t 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 magis! What did they know?! Nothing, apparently!

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

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

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

  Man tilted her head, still smiling like she’d just paid Bir the highest pliment in the world. “You souly like my husband.”

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

  Meanwhile, Man remained impossibly calm, her focus razor-sharp as she tried to tame the rampant mana threatening to tear Bir apart. She spared Yvain a quice, silently anding him with the kind of look that could unch 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 strug a proper mana barrier.

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

  P holy energy into Bir, Man got to work. The corrupted mana writhing inside Bir like a of snakes made her job both infuriating and delicate.

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

  “There you go,” Man coaxed, her voice steady ale. “You do it. See those dirty, vile little threads of mana ed around your soul? The ohat hurt to use? Expel them. Push them out. Do you feel my energy? Repce it. Take the pure energy and shove the rest out. You do it, Yhness.”

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

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

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

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

  A beat.

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

  Bir roared—a guttural, primal sound that shattered what little calm remained. Her voileashed 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 bck substance, bubbling and writhing as if alive. Her eyes—ohe soft purple of the Inkia Royal lineage—fred blood-red, the color of something a and angry.

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

  Man’s arm strained against the backsh. Her skin blistered, tore, and peeled uhe relentless bst, 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 bed, monstrous hands, dripping with a thick, mud-like corrupted Mana, hovered in the air as if g their way out of the void itself. Each finger was tethered by thin, sinister red threads, trailing down to Bir’s neck, wrists, and ankles, like the strings of a master puppeteer trolling her every move.

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

  Man’s lips curled into a grin.

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