A thin silver light began to glow from both of Lysandra's palms. She directed it toward the young man's chest. However, just before the magic could touch that horrific black wound, the silver light suddenly flickered, then shattered like broken glass, transforming into gray smoke that was swallowed by the forest mist.
Lysandra opened her eyes and flinched. “Huh? Why did the magic break?”
She tried again. This time, she poured in more power until sweat streamed down her forehead.
“Light of life, flow—”
The result was the same. The moment the energy traveled barely a handspan from her palm, the ancient magic of the Forbidden Forest intervened, suppressing and destroying her long-range spell instantly. This forest was like a gigantic sponge that absorbed any magic that didn’t come into direct contact with its host.
“Damn it! Damn this forest!” Lysandra cursed in frustration, striking the moss-covered ground in front of her. “Why does it have to suppress it?! I just want to heal him!”
The young man groaned again, his body convulsing slightly this time. The wound on his chest had grown even darker, signaling that the poison from the sword magic that had injured him was beginning to spread to his internal organs.
“Hang on… please, just hang on a little longer,” Lysandra pleaded in a panic. She stared at her own trembling palms. “The only way to get this magic through… I have to touch him directly. Transfer the energy from skin to skin.”
Cold sweat dampened her back. She looked at the young man again, then down at her hands. An even deadlier moral dilemma slammed into her.
“If I don’t touch him, he’ll die from his wounds. But if I touch him…” Lysandra swallowed with difficulty. “…my curse will activate. The pain will multiply. Instead of healing him, I’ll take his life in an instant.”
Once again, the shadow of her father appeared, gnawing at her mind.
“You’re a bringer of death, Lysandra. Don’t ever dream of saving anyone. Your touch is poison to all living things.”
“No! I’m not poison!” Lysandra screamed, slamming her hand into the ground again until her knuckles were scraped raw. “You’re the one who always called me poison, Father! But I’m the Goddess of Life! I’m supposed to give life, not take it!”
She sobbed uncontrollably, curling up in front of the dying young man. Despair paralyzed her. She felt utterly foolish and useless. The grand title bestowed upon her felt like the universe’s most painful mockery.
“Please… what am I supposed to do?” she whimpered into the forest’s silence. “I don’t want to kill him. But I can’t heal him, either. Why was I born defective like this?”
The young man’s chest rose and fell with agonizing slowness. His time was almost up.
Lysandra bit her lip until it bled. She had to make a desperate decision. If magic couldn’t help, she would have to use natural means. The Forbidden Forest was deadly, but ancient books in the palace mentioned that it was also home to prehistoric flora with extraordinary properties.
“There has to be some kind of herb,” she muttered, her eyes darting wildly as she scanned the undergrowth in the dimness. “There has to be a Blue Blood Leaf or a Freezing Root around here. If I can crush the leaves and smear them over his wound using a stick or a broad leaf… I won’t have to touch him.”
It was the only sensible hope she had left.
Lysandra gazed pleadingly at the young man’s face. “Can you hear me? Don’t die yet. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, so please, be stubborn enough to stay alive for another five minutes.”
She drew a deep breath, shutting out all her father’s voices in her head.
“I’ll find you some medicine first. Don’t go anywhere. Yeah, I know you’re not going anywhere with a wound like that. The point is, wait for me.”
With unsteady movements and what little strength she had left, Lysandra turned around. She prepared to crawl toward a thicket that appeared slightly brighter than its surroundings, hoping to find a medicinal herb that could save him.
She had barely shifted her knees and turned her back when a swift, perfectly directed movement took place behind her.
Something cold, rough, and sticky with blood seized Lysandra’s right hand before she could react.
The grip was incredibly strong, locking her in place. Large fingers pressed directly over the pulse in the goddess’s wrist. Direct skin-to-skin contact.
Lysandra’s eyes widened to their limit. Her breath caught instantly in her throat. The air around her seemed to freeze. Time stopped ticking.
She didn’t dare turn around. All she could do was stare at her hand, now clutched tightly by a large hand drenched in black blood.
Her curse had been triggered. There was no going back.