In a world where everything seems perfectly logical and pragmatic. The thought of anything existing outside of the realm of what one already knows seems impractical.
That is how Melinda Morrison sees life.
The very life where she has shared nearly e...
With one eye, I glimpse truth; with the other, I behold vengeance.
I had encountered the sorcerer's flu only once before in my life, when I first actualized my magical abilities at the tender age of eight. Back then, grappling with it was challenging enough, but facing it as an adult, pregnant no less, presented an entirely different ordeal.
The prolonged wearing of the Huyafo cuffs had triggered the onset of Mana Reversal Syndrome. These cuffs interfered with the natural flow of mana within the wearer's body, serving to suppress magical abilities and maintain control over the individual. It was a harsh reality—one designed to restrain and prevent one from retaliating.
As I lay recovering in the bed chambers of the Sacred Palace of Phavia, time seemed to blur into a haze of discomfort and uncertainty. The physical distress brought about by the flu was relentless. Intense pain wracked areas of mana accumulation, manifesting as sharp pains, muscle stiffness, and aching joints.
The instability of magic added another layer of complexity. Spells misfired, and the use of magic became erratic and unpredictable. Fever and chills plagued me, alternating between intense heat and bone-chilling cold. Vivid hallucinations and disturbing nightmares haunted my fitful sleep, exacerbating my anguish.
Weakness and fatigue enveloped me, rendering even the simplest tasks arduous. Every movement felt like a monumental effort, amplifying the strain on my already battered body. Amidst this turmoil, my mind raced, grappling with the identity of my assailants and the motives behind their heinous actions.
But I wasn't left to suffer alone. The Seraphees, along with several High Priests and Priestesses, had been channeling divine energy into my body to help alleviate the pain. Meanwhile, the Archmagus had discreetly summoned one of our palace mages, knowing that an Ethereal mage would be crucial in manipulating the flow of mana within me.
With their arrival, facilitated by the swift transport provided by the short train ride from the Imperial Capital of Klocsas to Ylury, I hoped relief would soon be within reach. My childhood battle with the sorcerer's flu had kept me bedridden for about three grueling weeks. Even after being fully cured, it took several more weeks to recover and rebalance my mana so I could practice magic as I had before falling ill.
"Please remain still, Your Majesty," Palace Mage Athenais instructed gently, her fingers expertly probing the pressure points of my joints. With each touch, my body responded differently—some areas tensing with pain, while others remained numb to her ministrations. Athenais's unwavering focus suggested she was delving deep into the intricacies of my mana flow, rather than merely attending to my physical form.
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Several moments seemed to pass in somber silence within the palace chambers, where the Seraphees, Grand Duchess Dione, Minister of Health Misi, and finally the Archmagus stood vigil, awaiting the verdict on my condition.
