Chapter 47: His Fatal Curiosity

Lara forced herself to smile, even though she felt the muscles of her face were going to break from the tension.

“It’s the terminology, mostly,” she said, forcing a calm she didn’t have.

“It’s just too many names. The plants, their different properties, the interactions, really it is overwhelming.”

“I understand you, dear. It takes time to master the vocabulary of the Healer, but do not give up since the rewards are worth the effort. Being able to cure the sick and calm pain, that, Lara, is a gift, a true blessing from Zhalyr.”

Lara just nodded, lowering her gaze to the stone floor.

’A blessing from Zhalyr.’

She thought about the inscription in the book, about that warning echoing in her mind.

’Beware of the false light, the imitation of Zhalyr’s grace.’

“Sister Elena,” she started, and her voice trembled a bit. “And what happens with those who possess gifts that are not, well, so easy to understand? Those who struggle to control their abilities?”

Sister Elena’s forehead wrinkled.

“What do you mean, dear? Are you talking about someone in particular?”

Lara hesitated, the image of Raziel’s golden light shining in her memory. But the words didn’t come out.

She couldn’t risk revealing her suspicions after what she had heard.

Not when Sister Elena herself seemed entangled in something profane.

“No, Sister,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It was just curiosity. I have heard some rumors, about novices with abilities that are not common.”

Elena’s gaze stayed fixed on her a second longer, as if looking for something in her face that she couldn’t find.

Finally, she nodded and her expression softened.

“Ah, yes. There are always stories, whispers but the majority are just that, tales to scare young novices. The Church is vigilant, we protect our flock from those who would misuse Zhalyr’s gifts.”

She paused, and her eyes shined with a strange intensity.

“But if you are truly interested in unusual abilities, dear, perhaps you should focus on your empathy. It is a rare gift, Lara. One that could lead you to do great things.”

Lara nodded, forcing another smile.

Meanwhile, Lucian, driven by determination to prove to Lara that he was worthy of her attention, had thrown himself headfirst into his Healer studies.

He devoured botany texts, memorized the properties of herbs and even volunteered to help Sister Elena in the infirmary.

He attended to minor ailments with a surprising tenderness that contradicted his usual frivolity.

He felt useful.

For the first time, he felt a purpose that went beyond his surname and his status.

He enjoyed the challenge of mastering the arts of the Healer, the satisfaction of relieving pain, knowing that he was making a real difference in the lives of others.

So much so that he asked Sister Elena for private tutoring sessions, eager to accelerate his learning and, incidentally, earn points with Lara.

“I am impressed with your commitment, Lucian,” Sister Elena had told him, with a shine in her eyes.

“Most novices are satisfied with passing the first year, but you have fire. A thirst for knowledge.”

She smiled, with a knowing look.

“And perhaps a touch of inspiration from a certain maiden?”

Lucian laughed, with blushing cheeks, but he couldn’t deny the truth in her words.

One afternoon, while Lucian stayed in Sister Elena’s office after a private tutoring session, his gaze landed on a small ornate box, hidden on a shelf behind the instructor’s desk.

It was made of dark wood, with the surface carved with intricate floral patterns and inlaid with small gems that sparkled in the candlelight.

“What is that, Sister Elena?”

Elena looked up from the text she was reading, following his gaze.

“Ah, that is just a souvenir, Lucian. A gift from an old friend, it is nothing of importance.”

But Lucian, whose curiosity often exceeded his discretion, got up and crossed the room, his fingers reaching out to touch the box.

“May I?” he asked, with a touch of mischief in his voice.

Sister Elena hesitated.

“It is fine, but be careful since it is quite fragile.”

Lucian lifted the box, surprised by its weight.

He examined it closely, tracing the intricate carvings, drawn to the small gems that seemed to pulse with a faint inner light.

He tried to open the lid, but it was stuck, as if it was locked from the inside.

He turned it over, looking for a hidden latch or a secret mechanism, and his fingers brushed against a small indentation on the bottom.

He pressed it.

CLICK.

The lid opened, revealing a hidden compartment underneath.

Lucian’s breath hitched, his heart hammering in his chest as he looked inside.

The compartment contained a single object: a leather-bound diary, with pages yellowed by age and ink faded and blurry in some parts.

He reached for the diary, his fingers shaking slightly as he took it out of its hiding place.

“What is this, Sister Elena?”

Sister Elena had risen from her chair. She was pale, with eyes wide with alarm.

“Lucian, put that in its place! That is not for your eyes!”

But Lucian, already captivated by the mystery, ignored her plea.

He opened the diary and his gaze locked onto the shaky handwriting filling the pages.

The first entry, dated several years ago, began with a prayer to Zhalyr, a plea for guidance and strength.

But as Lucian kept reading, his frown deepened and his stomach turned with a growing sense of unease.

The entries detailed Sister Elena’s struggles, her doubts, her growing dependence on a mysterious “Source” that offered her guidance and comfort.

The Source, she wrote, gave her knowledge, power, a way to cure even the most difficult ailments.

But with each entry, the tone of the diary changed.

The prayers became less frequent, gratitude was replaced by a desperate need, a growing obsession with the whispers of the Source and its promises.

And then, a name appeared, scrawled with a trembling hand, a name that froze Lucian’s blood: St. Sofia’s.

He turned the pages, as Elena’s entries detailed her secret visits to the infamous institution, her interactions with its shadowy inhabitants, her growing conviction that the traditional teachings of the Church were inadequate.

She wrote about rituals, about forbidden knowledge, about a power lying dormant in the very fabric of the world, waiting to be awakened by those who dared to transcend the limitations of Zhalyr’s grace.

Lucian’s gaze fell on the last entry, with the ink still fresh, the words scrawled with a frenetic energy that cut off his circulation.

“The moment approaches”, Sister Elena had written, her handwriting barely legible.

“The Source has shown me the way. The necessary sacrifice will be made. And then we will mark the beginning of a new era. An era of true healing. An era of unimaginable power.”

Lucian slammed the diary shut, his hand shaking uncontrollably. He looked up at Sister Elena, with eyes wide from horror and disbelief.

“What does this mean, Sister?” he whispered, with his voice choked by fear. “What is all this?”

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