Curse !

A conversation that stirs shadows

The soft light of evening poured into the grand office, painting the polished mahogany shelves and gold-inlaid carpets with long sleepy streaks of orange. Behind her broad oak desk sat the Dean — stern, graceful, every bit the powerful matriarch of this academy. Before her stood Vivien, poised and impossibly composed, her hands folded lightly at her waist.

The Dean's eyes softened. Then, almost too casually, she asked, "Did you happen to watch the event being held earlier today at Central One Area, Vivien?"

Vivien inclined her head, pale pink hair shifting like a silken waterfall over her shoulders. "Yes. I saw it while passing through."

"Mm." The Dean's gaze was deceptively light, but behind it danced a probing interest. "And your thoughts?"

Vivien's violet eyes flickered just slightly, as if replaying the scene in her mind — the devastating strikes, the mana beasts unleashing torrents of magic, the glittering barriers and dust-choked air. Then, in that refined, steady voice of hers, she answered, "They were strong. I would venture to say they are likely the strongest students in this academy. As for the mechanisms… impressive as well. To resist their combined assaults even for a few seconds — I suspect the creator must be a year five student, or perhaps even above."

A rare slip

For a heartbeat, the Dean simply stared. Then she tilted her head back, her lips twitching as though suppressing laughter. A faint mumble escaped her. "Heh… seems even the cold princess can be wrong sometimes."

Vivien blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," the Dean quickly said, waving a hand with exaggerated innocence. Her wrinkled face split into a grin that was half amusement, half private delight. This is going to be fun, she thought. It wasn't often her granddaughter made a slip — even one so harmless.

For years Vivien's composure and insight had been almost unnervingly flawless, as if she had been born already fifteen steps ahead of the world. Seeing her underestimate something, even once, felt oddly refreshing. Almost human.

Expectations and exceptions

Collecting herself, the Dean drew a long breath, then leaned forward slightly over her desk, voice resuming its firm administrative tone. "Anyway, since you have made your decision to enroll — as I urged you to — let me make this absolutely clear. You will not receive any favoritism from me. You are to live here as a student, the same as every other girl in the dormitory. No special privileges. No protection beyond what the academy provides to all."

Vivien merely nodded. "I understand. I would not have asked otherwise."

"Good." The Dean exhaled through her nose, leaning back. "Your room is already prepared in the girls' dormitory. You may go and settle in whenever you wish."

Vivien dipped in a graceful, courtly curtsy, her skirts sweeping the plush carpet. Then, with the faintest mischievous glint in her eyes — almost imperceptible, unless one knew where to look — she asked, "May I ask one question, Grandmother?"

The Dean's eyes narrowed, wary. "What is it?"

"You said I may call you Grandma, did you not?" Vivien's lips curved just slightly. "Wouldn't that be… favoritism too?"

A precious moment

The Dean's eyes went wide. For once, words stumbled over her tongue. "Ah — well — th-that's… an exception!"

Vivien's soft, amused laughter spilled out, gentle as falling petals. "Very well, Grandma."

And with that, she swept out of the office, her faint floral perfume lingering behind her like a delicate echo.

The Dean sat there a moment longer, blinking. Then she exhaled, placing a hand over her chest as if to slow her racing heart. "That girl…" A watery smile quirked her lips. Even teasing me with that quiet wit… how long has it been since I've seen her smile like that?

Alone in the moonlight

Later, the Dean set aside her final stack of papers and crossed the office to stand by the wide arched window. The world outside was bathed in silver: the vast lawns of the academy shone under moonlight, shadows of ancient towers spilling long across the courtyards. High above, the moon hung swollen and bright, rimmed in a soft halo.

She pressed her fingertips against the cool glass. Her throat tightened.

A long sigh escaped her. "I wonder… if there will ever be a way to save her… from that curse."

The words were little more than breath, so fragile they almost didn't exist. Yet in the privacy of her office, there was no need to hold them back.

A cruel fate unspooled

Her mind drifted back across the years, to when Vivien had first been born — so tiny, so breathtakingly beautiful even as an infant, with that faint gleam of mana like a spark in her veins. At first it had been a marvel, a miracle to the entire Leywin family. Vivien's magic was astonishing, blooming so early and so fiercely. They celebrated. They dreamed vast futures for her.

But soon enough the truth began to show.

Vivien's powers were not simply extraordinary. They were unnatural. Wild. Burgeoning beyond control. And with that came the grim prophecy delivered by the family's oldest seers: when Vivien reaches her early sixteenth year, her mana will spiral out of control, devouring itself, creating a cataclysmic rupture that will ultimately consume her own life.

It was so brutally specific. No half-hopes, no vague timelines. Just a cold certainty that by sixteen, Vivien would die.

A grandmother's agony

The Dean's hand curled into a fist against the glass, knuckles whitening. Tears began to slip down her lined cheeks, each one carving a fresh track through the stoic mask she always wore.

"It's so… unjust. Even for grown men or women, to know the day of their death would be unbearable. But for a child to carry it… since the day she could understand speech…" Her voice broke into a trembling whisper. "It's terrifying. And she's borne it with more grace than any of us."

There had been a flicker of hope once — some scholars believed Vivien might be the destined user of the fabled Stairway of Heaven, a mythical power said to rewrite the very threads of fate. But that had proven false, another cruel mirage. Since then, they had searched ceaselessly for a cure. And found nothing.

"Fifteen years…" The Dean's eyes lifted to the moon, blurred now by her tears. "One year left… and still no solution. No clue. Just this slow march to an inevitable end."

A life half-lived

She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest against the cool pane. "We've kept her at home all her life. Afraid to let her out, because if her magic slipped for even a second… people could die. So she grew up in gilded rooms, with tutors and books but no friends. Never knowing what it meant to gossip with other girls, to sneak out after curfew, to dance awkwardly at a festival."

A weak laugh escaped her. "Maybe… maybe that's why she's so cold. Or seems that way. When truly she's just never known any other way to be."

She swallowed down a sob. "She avoids boys. That, at least, is a relief. Though it breaks my heart all the same — no dreams of love or marriage, no silly heartbreaks or hopeful letters under her pillow. Just… duty. Magic. And the knowledge of her own impending end."

A fragile hope

The Dean straightened at last, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. Her face firmed into its usual lines of authority, though the sorrow never left her eyes.

"Why send her to the academy now, after all these years of shielding her?" She answered herself in a whisper. "Because now… at last… she's strong enough to hold her power in check. All those years we weren't simply coddling her — we were training her. She's an exceptional mage now. But no amount of talent can stop what's coming."

Her hand drifted to the golden pendant at her throat, clutching it like a talisman. "The only thing left is hope. A miracle. Something… someone… who might change the tide of this cursed fate."

Back to routine — with an aching heart

With that, she turned from the window, shoulders squaring as though bracing against an invisible wind. She returned to her desk, sat down, picked up her pen. The ink scratched faintly on the paper, each stroke a small act of defiance against the helplessness clawing at her heart.

If anyone looked in on the Dean then, they would see the same steely figure as always — head bent, eyes sharp, guiding the academy with unwavering will. They would never guess that beneath her robes beat a heart nearly crushed by the terror of losing the only granddaughter she had.

Please, she prayed silently, not even sure to whom. Let something — or someone — appear. Let there be a reason I brought her here beyond my selfish wish to give her a taste of life before it ends.

She dipped her pen again, forced her breath steady. Somewhere deep inside, the tiniest ember of hope still glowed.