Vespara rolled the vial between her fingers for a moment, watching Elara with mild amusement, as if a question about side effects sounded especially comical coming from someone who had previously plunged both hands into an unknown concoction without protest.
The girl didn't look away, keeping her hands tucked close. Still, she could tell the older apprentice was growing tired of the hesitation.
“What are you afraid of?” the futa finally asked. “You drank the previous potion far more readily.”
Elara remembered that moment well enough not to confuse obedience with trust.
Back then, she had been a maid - one hand stripped of flesh, the other so stiff she couldn't even grip the glass. Her choice had boiled down to following orders or provoking someone capable of doing whatever she pleased with her body.
She hardly had much freedom now, either, but she had three months until her first evaluation, access to books, and the beginning of an idea where to look for an alternative.
She wasn't about to throw those options away just because an easier path was being dangled in front of her.
“In the short term, it shouldn't cause trouble,” Vespara said, seeing the girl had no intention of replying. “Long-term use, however, burns through your potential and vitality. Once they run out, you die.”
She dropped the word without shifting her tone, tilting the vial slightly so the clear liquid shifted against the glass.
“If you're persistent enough, you can reach the second rank before that happens. Once there, you won't need to increase your reserves at all costs. Research achievements also let you pass evaluations, and at that stage, they only happen every six months.”
Elara looked at the potion, trying not to let herself be blinded by the promise of escaping immediate danger.
Vespara framed mere survival as a sufficient reason to accept, but the cost was clear: the slow destruction of something she might never be able to restore.
“If I use it for a prolonged period… could I lose my chance of becoming a full Magistra?” she asked carefully.
Vespara laughed, tilting her head back until the milky fluid sloshed beneath the glass dome.
“Aiming high, aren't you? Even I don't know if I'll ever reach that stage, and you're already worried about cutting off your advancement?”
She didn't answer directly, nor did she offer any reassurance that the fear was unfounded.
Elara looked down at her hands, recalling the mote of light she had drawn during meditation and the feeling of truly touching magic for the first time.
Not long ago, I would've settled for not being thrown back down to the servants…
Now I know I can learn.
I'm not trading away my whole future just to buy a few quiet months.
“I'm sorry, Lady Vespara,” she said, lowering her head. “I cannot accept this potion.”
The smile vanished from the futa's face. As she rose from the chair, Elara tensed her shoulders, though she didn't step back.
Inside the glass dome, something shifted violently. The solitary eye surged toward the front, locking onto the girl with a stare that a bowed head did nothing to soften.
The pressure mounted until drawing breath became difficult. Elara's fingers trembled, cold sweat prickled her neck, and the stretching silence made her wish a refusal required more words to say.
Vespara waited until the girl had paled considerably before letting out a soft laugh. The eye sank back into the murky fluid, and the crushing weight lifted enough for Elara to focus on her voice again.
“You think three months is a long time? Fine, I won't force you,” she said, stowing the vial away. “When you come begging for help on your own, the price won't be the same.”
She walked past and stepped out, the door clicking shut behind her. Elara stood frozen for several seconds, then wiped her forehead with her right hand, catching sweat running down her temple.
She made it to the bed on unsteady legs and sat down heavily, finally letting her posture collapse.
She feared Vespara, and rejecting her offer hadn't lessened that dread in the slightest, yet taking the potion still seemed foolish.
She had no desire to become someone waiting on a monthly dose, agreeing to one demand after another just to stay in the running.
The book had already pulled her out of several deadly situations, and her access to actual knowledge had barely begun. Surrendering future potential felt premature, even if refusing meant the coming weeks would be grueling.
Sylvara wants my corpse, Vespara wants obedience, and Caldra gave me three months before turning me into materials…
Is it really too much to ask to just open a book and study in peace?
On top of that, there was Mara, whose role in the laboratory remained unclear, Brynn, who might be acting on someone else's orders, and Deyra, who had picked her as a convenient target for her anger.
Elara leaned her head back, instinctively covering her eyes with her left hand, then winced as bare bone dug into her eyelid.
She pulled her hand away with a grimace, turned onto her side, and tugged the blanket over her shoulder.
“If there's no other way, I'll rebuild this damn body myself,” she muttered, staring at her pale hand. “First, I just need to survive tomorrow's classes.”
Sleep took a long time to come and brought little rest. Images of empty sockets, the glass dome, and closing cabinet doors drifted through her thoughts. When morning came, her eyelids felt heavy in a way they hadn't the day before.
Even so, she was up well before class required, washed her face, and headed down to the fourth floor to find Gwenna.
The girl was working near the servants' quarters and straightened up the moment she saw Elara, setting aside her rag. Her face lit up with an eagerness that left no doubt what she hoped to hear.
“Did you come to take me as your personal maid, Madam?”
“Not yet,” Elara replied, watching Gwenna's smile falter. “I came to ask something.”
Gwenna nodded quickly, pulling her dutiful expression back into place, though the disappointment was hard to miss.
Her turn to clean the corridors was coming up the next morning. Even if the task didn't always mean death, the memory of the last maid who never returned was enough to make her desperate for an out.
“Has anyone contacted Brynn recently?” Elara asked, lowering her voice.
“I haven't seen anyone. In our free time, we usually stay together, and she's always there,” Gwenna answered. “I don't know what she does at night, though.”
Elara considered the answer, then changed her approach.
She didn't want to send the girl poking around, but she could check if Gwenna had already noticed something without realizing it.
“What about earlier, after I was hurt? Did you see an older apprentice around her - dark cherry hair down to her shoulder blades, very pale skin, and reddish-brown eyes?”
She added a few more details about Sylvara's appearance, and Gwenna's smile disappeared entirely. Her lips parted, her eyes darted to Elara's forehead, and then snapped back to her face.
“Do you know her?” Elara pressed.
“I never saw her speak to Brynn… but she was the one who hit you with the book.”
A knot of tension tightened at the base of Elara's neck. With Gwenna's words, a fragmented memory finally surfaced from the scattered pieces left behind by the body's previous owner.
The room had been brightly lit, yet oppressive. Between tall shelves, a woman was pulling down books, discarding them with mounting frustration.
Dark cherry hair shifted with every movement of her head, muttered complaints about a journal spilled from her lips, and then Sylvara turned, looking straight at her.
Elara remembered the violent swing, the dark red binding rushing toward her face, and the sharp pain followed by nothingness.
She swayed slightly, forcing her legs to stay planted, but it wasn't Sylvara's face that hit her the hardest.
She recognized the book.
It had the exact same compact, hard binding, the same color and shape as the object that had hovered near her left shoulder ever since she woke up in the storage room.
Elara fought the urge to look over her shoulder; Gwenna was still watching her with concern.
It was here before… It didn't just appear when I did.
For the past few days, she had treated the book as something linked to her arrival in this world - a singular, inexplicable advantage granted to her alone.
Now, she distinctly remembered it in Sylvara's hands, moments before the previous owner lost consciousness and she woke up in her place.
Her thoughts returned to the muttered words by the shelves.
A journal…
Sylvara had been searching for something, might have held it in her hands, and then hurled it at a maid without realizing what she held. If she figured out the truth later, her relentless hostility was no longer mere contempt for a servant reaching above her station.
Elara curled her fingers beneath her sleeve as the scattered pieces began falling into a far more dangerous pattern.
It's not just that she doesn't want me among the apprentices… She wants the book back.
She couldn't confirm it, but the theory explained too much to ignore.
She had no way to discard the artifact, and even if she could, handing the only source of warnings over to the person who had already killed this body once was hardly a way to ensure peace.
Gwenna shifted uncomfortably, reminding Elara they were still standing in the corridor.
Elara smoothed her expression and looked at the girl gently.
“All right, thank you. Go back to work. Once I settle my affairs, I'll request to have you reassigned to me.”
Relief flooded Gwenna's face, but Elara didn't stop at the promise. Before leaving, she sought out the head of servants, who listened politely and agreed not to assign the girl to the hazardous duties.
Only then did she retrieve her materials and head toward the Ash Wing, trying not to dissect the entire conversation with every turn she took.
She arrived at General Knowledge later than intended, but Kelira had saved her a seat. As Elara sat and began laying out her supplies, her neighbor nudged her own books aside to give her room.
“There you are. A little longer and I would have thought something happened to you, too,” she said, eyeing the shadows under Elara's eyes.
“Though somehow, I doubt that'd be so easy.”
Elara froze with her hand on the cover, turning her head.
“Too? Did something happen to someone?”
Kelira gave a name Elara didn't recognize, then added that one of the new apprentices had lost her mind. She kept her voice down, but her gaze lingered on Elara's face, clearly irritated by the lack of shock.
“The others were far more surprised.”
“I already know what this place can do to people,” Elara replied, slowly opening her textbook. “I just didn't expect it so soon.”
She said nothing about the dolls, the missing hours, or the helpless laughter when the book flashed death after death.
She ran her fingers along the edge of the page, trying to focus on the text, but the sheet of skin wearing Mara's face and the pale hand gripping the red bin still lingered in her mind.
If that woman hadn't opened the door, they might be talking about me today… Assuming there was anything left to identify.
She allowed herself a brief glance at the silent book hovering by her shoulder.
Yesterday, she had wondered why danger seemed to seek her out during ordinary chores. Now, for the first time, she had to entertain a far worse thought.
How much of that was actually an accident?