~~~

The hand hurt. A powerful stream of aura cut her forearm like a blade. Niji couldn’t stop her tears from flowing, but she tried her best not to bawl.

Freyja shook her head. “No. That doesn’t work either.” She removed her palm, and the magical lightning ceased. The Elementalist pressed her hand to her chest and panted heavily. The t-shirt was immediately stained with blood. Niji was desperate that the ritual performed to remove the amplifier didn’t work, but some part of her was so relieved the torture had ended.

Niji’s drawing room had become an impromptu hospital. There were jars of potions and medical supplies on the table, and the mage girl began applying bandages to her damaged limb: in the attempt to get her rid of the cursed tattoo, the enchantress made Niji’s arm bleed like hell and she couldn’t imagine how much effort it would cost her to clean the sofa from the stains—still red, luckily.

Freyja looked exhausted. Although she didn’t bother to keep her on-stage image, she still managed to look fabulous in just a black sweater and a simple long skirt. “I need Shell’s artifact. Judging by these notes, we have no chance without it,” she said.

“The box… Tamatebako, right?”

“Yes. It was mine once. Fiber’s, to be more exact. I got it as a present from him, but lost it in a… game.”

“Oh…”

“Shell despised me. When I got into the team, I beat him as the best enchanter. He was secretly gathering all knowledge about amplifiers and designing his own methods to outmatch me. What a funny guy.”

“There’s not much hope then. The Cursed stole that relic, and it hasn’t been found yet.”

The Violet mage started putting the flasks back into her bag. Upon watching her, Niji thought Frejya was different from the Cursed she’d seen: an ordinary woman in her late thirties, worn out by life and its challenges—that’s all. Then she remembered the scene at the Lazy Dracula with the horrifying faces of dead teenagers, and this memory made Niji twitch. When her guest finished packing, the Elementalist brought herself to ask the question which had been haunting her all this time: “How much time do I have?”

“Hard to say… with this concentration of cells, perhaps you have… a year. Maybe. Two, at best. I can keep it going for five, but my days are numbered.”

“Five years?! That long?”

“I’ve just… accepted it.”

“What do you mean?”

Frejya took a deep breath, then continued with her soulful voice of a singer. “They explain it with physiology. But we are all cursed, in a way. A man’s soul is so fragile it suffers before the body.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“It is not only Violets that are cursed. Humans are faulty creatures. We all have our dark side to struggle with. Every outburst of anger, every bite of jealousy—this all affects the balance of life force. It leaves a death mark on you. That means, the secret is to keep your dignity as long as possible, no matter what. Admit that you can be bad. It will not save you from the pain, but you won’t waste your energy on fruitless denial.”

She went silent for a little while and then added, “This is all about emotions, Niji Murasaki. Resist your fear, anger, or despair. If you learn to control yourself, you can extend your life for a few years. And never give up, even if you realize that the ship is sinking.”

The enchantress stood up and went for the exit. “I have to go. Sorry, but I can’t help you. Try to find yourself someone who shoots you before you exterminate half of the city. And remember that you still owe me one.”

Frejya closed the front door after her, and the apartment became unnaturally quiet. For a dozen minutes—or maybe a whole hour—Niji was staring at the wall, not moving from her blood-stained couch, surrounded by the thick fragrance of Frejya’s herbs mixed with water, which the mage girl associated with death itself.

Another poison of fake hope caused a dull pain in Niji’s heart.

Her smart vibrated on the table, its screen displaying the name: Rem Oswald. Niji didn’t answer the call and went for a smoke on the balcony.

October 28, 2025

The morgue was not the best place to invite a just-recovered daughter of the city mayor, but Izumi needed answers to his lingering questions as soon as possible. When Emilia arrived, he looked away from Katharina’s article named “Abandoned Factory Massacre: Do Wizzies Kill Our Children?” and put his smart in his bag.

Aoi wanted to make the girl’s stay in such an unpleasant institution as short as possible. The investigator showed Emilia the corpses of the Violets—male and female—and asked whether she recognized them.

“Afraid not,” she replied.

“Are you sure about that? We assume that they might be those leaders you’ve spoken about. Please, try to remember.”

“No, it’s not them. But… you know, this one has the very same big ears as that woman with a magical beret. And the second one… he has the same checkered jacket as the guy who picked me up on the limousine.”

“Ears and jacket… hmmm…”

A little green haze formed around Izumi. The glow stopped after a few seconds, and the investigator smiled at the girl. “Thank you very much, Emilia-san! This information was very helpful.”

“Really? Did I help?!”

“Yes, and that will be all for today,” the Viridian speeded toward the exit. “I think I’ve figured out what tiles should be picked up first.”