Chapter 71: The Curse Beneath the Flame
{IRIS}
That wasn’t a loss of control. That was intent sharpened into flame.
Morgana had aimed to kill—or at the very least, to permanently scar.
If Caroline hadn’t reacted instinctively, hadn’t summoned her arcane at the exact moment she did, she would have been incinerated where she stood.
Professor Thornwick’s face darkened with fury. "You will explain yourself," he snapped, "after class. Move. Now."
Morgana merely shrugged, fire fully extinguished now, and stepped back with a smirk as if the entire incident had been nothing more than an amusing interruption.
My feet moved before my mind caught up.
I rushed to Caroline.
She was on her knees, one hand braced against the stone, the other clutching her arm. Her breathing was uneven, sharp with pain she was trying—and failing—to hide.
"Caroline," I whispered urgently, crouching beside her. "Are you alright?"
She looked up at me, lips pale, eyes glassy but still focused. "I... I think so."
But when I reached for her arm, my breath caught.
Ugly black marks crawled along her skin, twisting like living ink beneath the surface. They weren’t burn marks. There was no blistering, no charring.
They were curses.
Just what kind of black flame was it?
The markings pulsed faintly, as if alive, seeping into her flesh with malicious intent. Frost still clung to her fingers, but it was weak now, flickering unsteadily.
I could see it in her face—the way her jaw tightened, the slight tremor she couldn’t suppress.
The curse hurt more than the fire ever could.
"It hurts," she admitted quietly, shame flickering in her eyes as though pain were something she had failed to endure properly.
I swallowed hard.
Professor Thornwick strode toward us, his expression thunderous. He knelt beside Caroline, his sharp eyes scanning the curse marks with growing irritation.
"A hex layered into elemental fire," he muttered. "Reckless. Dangerous."
He shot a glare toward Morgana that could have cut steel.
"You will be confined to the west wing for a week," he barked. "And if I so much as sense another unauthorized spell from you—"
Morgana rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. I understand."
She did not look remorseful.
She looked satisfied.
Professor Thornwick turned back to Caroline. "You did well," he said gruffly. "Instinctual summoning under pressure. Few manage that their first time in combat."
Caroline nodded faintly, but the praise seemed distant to her. The curse throbbed again, and she hissed softly, gripping my sleeve.
"I’ll take her to the infirmary," I said quickly.
Professor Thornwick hesitated, then nodded. "Go."
As I helped Caroline to her feet, I felt it again.
That pressure.
That coiled presence inside my chest, stirring uneasily.
Fear had woken it earlier.
Now rage fed it.
The walk to the infirmary felt longer than it should have.
Caroline leaned heavily against me, her steps uneven, breath shallow. Every few moments, she winced as the curse flared again, black veins crawling higher up her arm.
"I’m sorry," she murmured suddenly.
"For what?" I asked, startled.
"For burdening you again."
I shook my head. "You’re not a burden."
She let out a small, humorless laugh. "That bloodsucker butch really intended to kill me. If I hadn’t defended myself, I would’ve been ash by now."
The words sat heavy between us.
I had been thinking the same thing, but hearing it spoken aloud sent a chill through me. "She dared to do that in front of everyone?" I asked quietly. "Doesn’t she fear the consequences?"
Caroline’s lips curved, bitter and sharp. "What consequences?"
She turned her gaze toward the ceiling, eyes unfocused. "One week of confinement in the west wing won’t even inconvenience her. She’ll endure a few lectures on discipline, sit through dull sermons about restraint, and that will be the end of it."
Her fingers curled slowly against her burnt dress. "Nothing more. No real punishment. Not for almost killing me."
I fell silent.
So this was the academy’s justice. So long as power was wrapped in pedigree and status, death itself could be brushed aside as excess enthusiasm, a momentary lapse.
It seemed the punishment here was never severe enough—not even for murder.
And truly... what else was new?
Inside the infirmary, the healers moved swiftly, murmuring under their breath as they examined the curse. One of them frowned deeply.
"This is not just a simple fire magic," she said. "The curse is anchored to malice. It will take time."
Caroline’s fingers tightened around mine.
"Will it leave a mark?" she asked quietly.
The healer answered her calmly, fingers still glowing faintly with residual magic. "Do not trouble yourself. As long as the curse has been fully extracted, there will be no scarring."
Relief loosened the tight knot in Caroline’s shoulders—only for it to seize again when Doctor Vivienne spoke.
"Unfortunately," Doctor Vivienne said, folding her arms, her voice clipped, "we do not treat curses here."
Caroline stiffened.
"But do not panic," Vivienne added smoothly. "I have already summoned Professor Seraphina. She will handle it."
That name alone made the air feel heavier.
Professor Seraphina Vale.
Alchemy. Poisons. Hexes. Curses.
Elegant. Terrifying. A witch.
She taught substances capable of paralyzing immortals, dissolving memories into nothingness, or binding a soul to flesh for a brief, agonizing eternity.
Rumors followed her like shadows—of potions tested on volunteers, of students who woke unable to remember their own names, of contracts signed after the fact rather than before.
Sometimes, it was said, consent was an afterthought.
A shiver crept down my spine.
Was it truly necessary to summon her?
The answer arrived before the thought finished forming.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor—unhurried, loud.
Then the door burst open without warning, slamming against the wall hard enough to make the glass vials on the shelves tremble.
"I assume you called for me," a woman’s voice declared, sharp and resonant, carrying both amusement and command.
Professor Seraphina Vale swept into the room like a storm given human shape.
She wore black, as always—layers upon layers of it—fabric dark enough to swallow light. Her crimson hair flared wildly around her head, standing on end as if charged with static or willpower alone.
There was something untamed about it, as though even gravity dared not restrain her.
The scent reached me seconds later.
Bitter herbs. Burnt resin. Old parchment. Something metallic beneath it all—like blood that had long since dried. Rotting and foul.
The smell of a black witch.
Up close, she looked older than her rumored age. Not in years, but in presence. Her eyes held too much knowledge, too much familiarity with suffering and the unknown.
Yet despite the darkness clinging to her, there was no true malice in her expression—only a relentless curiosity, and a devotion to what others feared.
Her love for the unnatural outweighed her cruelty that could be found mostly with black witches.
"Where is the patient?" she demanded.
Her gaze snapped to Caroline almost instantly—and her lips curved, slow and sharp, as she caught sight of the blackened arm resting against the sheets.
For half a second, I thought she might actually drool.
"Well, well," Seraphina murmured, already approaching. "How delightful."
"Professor," Doctor Vivienne said curtly. "Please—"
But Seraphina was already there. She seized Caroline’s wrist without warning.
Caroline gasped, then hissed sharply as pain shot through her arm. "Hey—!"
"Ah," Seraphina hummed, unfazed. "Yes. I see it now."
Her fingers tightened, nails pressing just shy of skin-breaking. Dark veins pulsed faintly beneath Caroline’s pallid flesh.
"Hollowgraves’ black flame," the professor said with unmistakable certainty. "No question about it."
She leaned closer, inhaling as though savoring a fine wine.
"The scent gives it away. That flame was never meant to curse—it devours. The hex is merely a side effect, an echo left behind. Unfortunately it’s weak. Incomplete."
Unfortunately?
I bit my tongue to stop myself from correcting her. Don’t you mean fortunately?
Seraphina straightened, interest already draining from her features.
"Well," she said dismissively, releasing Caroline’s wrist at last, "it’s nothing remarkable. Certainly nothing worth the theatrics."
Caroline stared at her, incredulous. "Nothing remarkable?" she repeated. "My arm is practically rotting."
"Please," Seraphina scoffed. "I’ve seen worse from first-year mishaps."
"Can you just... heal it?" Caroline asked, already exhausted.
"Of course," Seraphina replied breezily. "A simple curing hex potion will suffice. My brew, naturally."
That did nothing to reassure Caroline.
The professor produced a small vial from within her sleeve, the liquid inside swirling faintly, silver-blue and alive.
"This will remove the curse entirely," Seraphina continued. "No lingering effects. No permanent damage. You should be grateful—it could have been far more entertaining."
She uncorked the vial and tipped the contents over Caroline’s arm.
Caroline screamed.
The liquid spread instantly, clinging to skin like frost and fire combined.
"It’s cold!" Caroline cried. "And it burns—gods, it burns!"
"Endure it," Seraphina said coolly. "It will pass in a minute."
True to her word, the sensation faded quickly. The blackened veins retreated, dissolving as though they had never existed.
Caroline sagged against the bed, breathing hard, sweat beading at her temples.
