24

  The ossuary of the mage workshop was dim, lit only by flickering torches that threw shadows across the walls lined with jars of herbs, skeletal remains, and glass vials. The scent of resin and damp stone mixed with the faint metallic tang lingering from past experiments.

  Galen strode in first, his robes whispering against the cold floor. Behind him, Hector followed, staff in hand, eyes narrowed as they approached the concrete table at the center. Upon it lay the noble’s corpse, face frozen in terror, skin grayed and rigid, clothing torn and marred by debris.

  Hector knelt slowly, taking in every detail. His eyes swept across the body—the hands, carefully inspected, the worn boots flecked with dirt, the dagger still embedded in the chest. He examined the hair, noting clumps torn and matted, and then the holes—hundreds of tiny cavities where insects had emerged. The smell was acrid, unnatural.

  He carefully cut a small piece of the noble’s cell tissue and placed it in a candle flame. It did not burn. Hector frowned, then muttered incantations, summoning a small blue fire to dance across his hands. The tissue burned with unnatural intensity, emitting sparks and a faint hum, yet never turned to ash completely.

  “This body… it is magically constructed,” Hector muttered under his breath.

  Galen observed silently, letting Hector work. The Arch-Seer’s hands moved with meticulous precision, removing the tongue, examining it for traces of enchantments or poisons. It was empty, lifeless—yet something lingered. He pried the palate and discovered a magic circle, intricate and complex, etched faintly into the tissue itself.

  Hector’s expression darkened. “Princess Sophia,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the circle. “She has been cursed. If we do not act, what befell this noble will happen to her. Whoever cast this… their skill is beyond most curse magic I’ve encountered.”

  He rose, staff tapping lightly against the stone floor, turning to Galen. “I believe I can dispel the curse, but the origin… the root of it… I need your assistance.”

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  Galen’s brow furrowed. “What do you need?”

  Hector led him to the alchemy lab, a room suffused with the scent of herbs and minerals. Shelves lined with vials of colored liquids, powders, and animal parts glimmered in the torchlight.

  “For this,” Hector began, “we need common herbs, seeds… and something rare—the bone marrow of a lynx. It is the only element that will stabilize the antidote’s magical properties.”

  Galen’s eyes widened. “A lynx? In Maharlika? The wild lynx is only found in the southern Diospyrus jungles, the deadliest region known. The druids of old worshiped them, and the royal bloodline descended from there. You are aware the previous King of Diospyrus was killed in the last rebellion?”

  Hector nodded, unbothered. “Yes. But this is no time for historical lamentation.” He gestured to Galen. “You have it?”

  Galen smirked faintly, pulling a small, sealed container from beneath the table. “By fortunate preservation, yes. A lynx’s marrow—perfectly intact.” He handed it over.

  Together, they began the ritual. Galen ground the herbs, seeds, and marrow, murmuring incantations to awaken the latent energy within. Hector mixed the yellow vial from his bag, its liquid glowing faintly, as though aware of the magic surrounding it. Sparks of blue and gold fire flickered across the table, intertwining with the ingredients.

  The antidote began to take form, a thick golden fluid swirling with strands of light that danced like living threads. Hector dipped his staff into the mixture, chanting spells of purification and protection. The aroma of the concoction filled the air—earthy, pungent, and faintly sweet, like the deep forest floor after rain.

  Galen watched, half-amused, half-intrigued. “You never fail to surprise me, Hector. Even after all these years, your methods are… unorthodox.”

  Hector gave a faint smile, eyes still locked on the glowing antidote. “And yet, they work. Now, we prepare to save the princess. Let us hope our work is enough.”

  Galen nodded, leaning closer to inspect the potion. The golden liquid shimmered in his hand, reflecting the torchlight, alive with magical energy.

  “The noble’s curse was made with intent,” Hector murmured, voice low. “The spell is complex, adaptive. Whoever created it wanted it to spread, to corrupt life itself. If Sophia is touched even slightly… it could consume her completely.”

  Galen swallowed. “Then we have no time to waste.”

  Hector dipped the staff into the antidote one last time, lifting it high as the mixture glowed brighter. Sparks flew into the air, illuminating the lab with blue-gold light. In that moment, both mages felt the weight of the task ahead—not only to undo the magic that had taken a life, but to prevent the shadow of death from reaching the princess herself.