Chapter 42: His Desperate Gamble

“A teacher?” Lucian repeated, a crooked smile forming on his face.

“Someone who owes me a favor? Raz, my friend, the list of people who owe me favors is longer than a sermon from the High Luminar, so you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Raziel ignored his bragging, because he knew every second counted.

“It’s not a noble”

“Not even a cleric. It’s someone your family has probably already forgotten, but who has more practical knowledge in her little finger than all the instructors in this academy combined.”

Lara was confused. “Who are you talking about, Raziel?”

The idea of using his knowledge of the future to manipulate her left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he had no other choice.

It was either that or watch them fail, and failure meant death.

“I’m talking about Whitecliff Manor,” he said, and he watched Lara’s eyes go wide.

“There was a servant girl there named Anya. Her mother was the best healer in the region, and she taught Anya everything she knew, so she didn’t learn from books, she learned by healing real people, with remedies the Church would consider unorthodox.”

Lucian let out a laugh.

“A servant? Raziel, you’re a genius! It’s the perfect hiding spot! Who would look for a healing prodigy scrubbing floors? It’s brilliant!”

But Lara didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Anya… yes, I remember her. But she left Whitecliff years ago, right before I came to St. Celeste. She was very attached to me, she wouldn’t have stayed after I left.”

Raziel was already expecting that answer.

[SYSTEM WARNING]

[Soul Corruption accelerates with each significant alteration of fate.]

[Current Stability: 87.4%]

[It is recommended to avoid drastic deviations from the known time flow.]

’Like I have a choice,’ he thought with a dark humor no one else could understand.

“Maybe she left,” Raziel admitted out loud, keeping his calm facade.

“But she’s our only lead. We have nothing to lose by trying, and we need her, Lara. She’s the only hope we have of learning enough to get the title.”

Lucian clapped Lara on the back, with the confidence of a noble who’s never heard the word “no” in his life.

“Come on, Lara, don’t be so shy! Raz is right. Besides, if we find her, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll personally guarantee her comfort and generous compensation. How about a donation for her family? Or maybe a charming suitor from the capital?” he added with a wink.

Lara playfully slapped his arm, and a small smile finally appeared on her lips.

“You’re hopeless, Lucian. Always thinking about nonsense.”

Raziel saw the tension in her shoulders ease.

He knew that deep down, Lara longed for more than the prescribed life of a noble.

She had an inner strength that just needed a push to come out.

“Think about it, Lara,”

“This isn’t just about passing some tests. It’s for something bigger.”

Before she could answer, a quiet, authoritative voice cut through the tension in the room.

“Lara? A moment, please.”

Sister Elena was standing in the doorway, and Raziel didn’t like the look on her face one bit.

Lara was surprised. “Sister Elena, of course. Is everything alright?”

“It’s a private matter, dear,” the Sister replied, her gaze landing on Raziel and Lucian for an instant before returning to Lara.

“Come to my office.”

Lara hesitated, looking at her friends as if asking for permission.

Raziel gave her a nod, though his heart suddenly started beating with a new urgency.

“Go, We’ll be here when you get back.”

Lara nodded and followed Sister Elena out of the room, leaving Raziel and Lucian alone with a pile of useless books.

***

Sister Elena’s office was small and there was nothing personal in it, just books of doctrine and a wooden crucifix on the wall.

Lara sat across from her, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Lara, dear,” Sister Elena began, in a voice that tried to be kind but couldn’t hide its firmness. “We need to talk.”

“About what, Sister?” Lara asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“About your gift, child. Your empathy.”

Lara’s blood ran cold since she had tried to hide her sensitivity to magic, because she knew people feared what they didn’t understand.

But apparently, she hadn’t done a good enough job.

Sister Elena leaned forward.

“I’ve been watching you, ever since you arrived. Your sensitivity to energy, to emotions, it’s much greater than I first thought. And it’s getting stronger.”

Lately, other people’s emotions felt like a constant noise in her head, sometimes she even heard fragments of thoughts that weren’t hers.

“I-I don’t understand,” she stammered.

“What does it mean? What’s happening to me?”

Sister Elena’s expression softened, and she placed her hand on Lara’s.

“Your gift, child,” the Sister said, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret, “is very rare, but also dangerous. It requires specialized guidance.”

She paused, choosing her words with a care that struck Lara as sinister.

“There is a place, Lara. An institution dedicated to those with unique sensitivities, where you can learn to control your gift, to perfect it, and to use it for the greater good.”

“What place, Sister?”

Sister Elena hesitated for a second, and a shadow of something, maybe worry, maybe pity, crossed her face before she spoke.

“It’s called the Sanatorium of Saint Sophia.”

Lara had heard the rumors about Saint Sophia.

Stories the novices told each other in hushed voices at night.

They said it was a sanctuary, but everyone knew it was really a prison.

A place where they sent those who were too dangerous or unstable to be controlled.

Sister Elena’s hand closed around Lara’s wrist with a firmness she didn’t expect.

“Trust me, child,” she whispered, but her fingers were trembling.

Or maybe it was Lara who was trembling.

That’s when she saw it.

As Elena’s sleeve moved, a row of too-perfect scars peeked out under the candlelight.

They weren’t battle marks, or from accidents. They were…

“What are those?” Lara asked before she could stop herself.

Elena followed her gaze, and for an instant, something dark crossed her eyes.

“Lessons,” she answered, sliding her sleeve back down with a quick motion. “Like the ones you need.”

The scars were circular, as if someone had jammed red-hot needles into the same spot over and over again.

And the worst part: they smelled.

A sweet, rotting smell, like lavender mixed with vinegar, clung to the air.

“Saint Sophia’s isn’t a sanatorium, is it?” Lara murmured, feeling Elena’s pulse quicken under her fingers.

She squeezed Lara’s hand hard. “Trust me, Saint Sophia’s is the only place that can really help you, and it’s the only place that…”

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