She called it curse

House Oldstag was a noble magic house from Europe, renowned across continents for its mastery of healing magic. 

        Healing magic was unlike the other type of magic. Where most mages shaped their will into mana, healers drew upon something far more intimate: their own life force. Through the spiritual organs, the mage's magic structure. This life force was transformed into mana, a substance capable of mending flesh, curing ailments, and restoring vitality. But such power came at a cost. Overuse did more than tire the healer; it could drain their life entirely, or in the gravest cases, leave them blind, broken, or worse. Few possessed the gift, three out of nine people, and even fewer could wield it without fear.

        "—W–wait for me, my lady!" 

        "Hurry up, Isabella! The first to reach the top wins!" 

        Even now, Isabella still wondered how she had ever managed to keep up back then. They had been the same age, yet her master always moved with boundless energy, light on her feet as she ran ahead along the mountain path. Despite her laughter and enthusiasm, she had looked so frail, smaller even than Isabella had been at nine years old, her breath coming quick, her frame delicate, as if a strong wind might knock her over.

        And yet, she never slowed.

        Whenever duties allowed, they would hike the mountain hills together, climbing until the estate below shrank into nothing more than a cluster of rooftops. The higher they went, the thinner and cleaner the air became, cold brushing against their skin. From the summit, they could see everything: forests rolling endlessly outward, rivers glinting like silver threads, and at night, the sky stretching wide and infinite above them.

        Her master loved that view.

        She would tilt her head back, eyes shining, counting stars as if afraid they might vanish if left unnamed. Isabella would stand beside her, pretending she wasn't tired, watching her laugh and thinking how strange it was that someone who looked so fragile could burn so brightly.

        "Yay, I win!"

        "G–gasp… gasp… that's so unfair, my lady, please wait for me."

        Isabella staggered the last few steps to the summit and bent forward, hands braced on her knees as she fought for air. Her legs trembled, her lungs burned, every ounce of strength completely spent.

        Meanwhile, her master stood at the top of the hill, framed by the open sky, breathing easily as if the climb had been nothing at all. She turned back with a bright, triumphant smile, eyes sparkling with mischief and pride, as though she still had energy to spare. 

…

        Chirp!

        Chirp!

        A weak, broken sound echoed from the tree trunk nearby, thin, desperate, like a plea that could barely form. When they turned toward it, they saw the source: a small bird slumped against the bark, its wings stained with dull red.

        "She's hurt," Isabella's master said softly, already kneeling. "A larger bird must have attacked her."

        She reached out, careful and gentle, fingers brushing the matted feathers as if afraid even her touch might cause pain. The bird trembled, releasing another fragile chirp.

        "My lady, you shouldn't," Isabella said quickly, stepping forward. "Even if you heal it now, it will just be attacked again later." She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. "It would be kinder to end her suffering."

        The words sounded cruel, even to her own ears.

        But Isabella knew she wasn't wrong.

        This was the way of the world. A healed bird would still be weak. Predators would return. Life would claim it eventually. It was the circle of life. Even if her master saved it today, tomorrow, or the day after, it would fall again.

        Yet that wasn't the whole truth.

        Isabella's gaze flicked to her Masters open palm, where magic had already begun to gather, soft, pale, and warm. Healing magic.

        She clenched her fists.

        Healing magic did not come without consequence. It did not draw upon will, but upon the caster's own life force. Every wound mended was paid for in something unseen, years, sight, strength. And her master was already so fragile.

        That was the reason Isabella had protested.

        Not because the bird would die someday.

        But because she was afraid of what healing it would take from the person she cares about.

        "Isabella," her master said softly, looking back at her with a warm, unwavering smile.

        "If I can bring a smile to someone, even for just one day, why wouldn't I?”

        She turned her palm upward.

        "I believe I was given this power for that very reason," she continued, voice calm, almost serene "To help someone." A gentle light bloomed in her open hand, warm and steady, casting a soft glow over the wounded bird, and over Isabella's face as well. 

        Isabella had grown up in the shadow of nobility, but never as one of its daughters. Her family had served House Oldstag for generations, loyal retainers whose names were etched quietly into the house's long history.

        And among all those they had sworn to protect, there was one who stood above the rest.

        The daughter of the current head of Oldstag. She was Isabella's master. Her childhood friend. A gentle soul whose laughter shone like a lantern through the dark corridors of the estate.

        From the very first day they met, Isabella had made a silent vow.

        …I will protect her. No matter the cost.

        It was more than duty. It was devotion, born of shared mornings, whispered secrets, and quiet confidences. Her master saw the world not as cruel, but as something worth saving.

        And Isabella, who had seen its cruelty firsthand, swore she would be the one to carry that light.

        But fate is rarely gentle.

        One day, a particularly grievous outbreak struck the estate. Her master had bent over the sick, weaving her life into theirs, when a surge of backfiring magic struck her in full. Isabella had been too late. The blow left her master blind, the brilliance in her eyes extinguished, and her body frail as if every spell had carved away pieces of her very soul

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That's when another promise was born. Isabella promised that she would restore what her master had lost, that the two of them would climb the mountain hill again and count the stars.

        But looking back now, she realized she had been idealistic, making impossible promises, and she would now be leaving, without ever saying goodbye.

        …The comforting, familiar weight stirred Isabella awake, her head resting in the gentle lap of her master. The steady warmth beneath her was a tether to the world, a fragile anchor against the chaos of the night.

        The first light of dawn filtered through the jagged gap in the factory wall, torn wide open by a beam of electricity Isabella had fired. Shards of concrete and twisted rebar framed the broken wall like jagged teeth, remnants of a storm that had burned and scorched everything in its path. Puddles of rain and melted stone glimmered across the cracked floor, reflecting the soft morning light. The air still carried the sharp scent of ozone and singed metal, a lingering echo of unleashed power.

        Around them, the ruin was quiet but not empty. Fractured machinery lay half-submerged in shallow pools, steel beams bent and twisted from the force of lightning, and the ceiling overhead was pockmarked with scorch marks where the storm had screamed through. Tiny rivulets traced paths along the floor, carrying the last remnants of the storm's fury into dark corners.

        Isabella blinked slowly, taking in the scene from the safety of her master's lap. Despite the devastation around them, there was calm there, a quiet steadiness, untouched by her own power. The ruin, the jagged wall, the wet concrete, even the faint scorch marks, all of it faded for a moment, leaving only warmth. 

        "—My lady?!" Isabella jolted upright, confusion flooding her face as pain failed to follow. Her breath came sharp and uneven as she looked around, mind racing to catch up with reality.

        "Why are you here?" she asked, voice trembling, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren't the only question clawing at her throat.

        Her hands moved over her own body in frantic disbelief. Ribs, intact. Spine, whole. No searing pain. No shattered bones. Nothing to mark a fall from thirty feet, nothing that should have left her alive.

        "And why… am I still alive?"

        Her gaze snapped toward Mikado. He sat atop a slab of crumbled concrete, silent, watching. The ruined factory stretched around them, broken walls blackened by lightning, puddles of rainwater reflecting the pale light of dawn. The storm was gone, leaving only damp air and the faint scent of ozone.

        Slap!

        The sharp crack of flesh against flesh echoed through the riverside ruins.

        Isabella staggered, stunned, as her face burned. Before she could even react, arms seized her, clutching desperately at her chest.

        "Stupid—"

        Anastasia's voice broke. Her eyes were closed, unfocused, yet her expression twisted with raw emotion as tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

        "Who said you were allowed to throw your life away for me?!"

        Her fingers trembled where they gripped Isabella's clothes, as if afraid that letting go would make her vanish. Blind eyes searched uselessly, yet her hold was unyielding, desperate, real.

        Isabella froze.

        The warmth of Anastasia's touch, the uneven hitch of her breathing, the pain in her voice—it all struck harder than Mikado’s lightning ever could.

        "My lady…" Isabella whispered, throat tight, unable to finish the sentence.

        Alive. Scolded. Held.

        She hadn't been saved out of obligation or duty. She had been saved because someone refused to lose her.

        "I'm sorry… My lady. I'm sorry…" Isabella's voice broke as the words spilled from her lips again and again, hollow and powerless. Seeing her master cry hurt far more than the fall ever had. Far more than broken bones or shattered pride.

        This was pain she could not endure.

        Her hands trembled as the truth settled in. Anastasia had used her healing magic again. There was no mistaking it, the familiar warmth still lingered in Isabella's body, unnatural and absolute, the kind of restoration that could only come from life force willingly burned away.

        She called it curse.

        Isabella clenched her teeth, nails digging into her palms. She had sworn to protect her master from that fate. To shield her from the very power that had taken her sight. To be the one who bore the pain instead.

        And yet… she had forced Anastasia's hand.

        "I promised you," Isabella whispered, tears spilling freely now. "I promised I'd save you from this curse."

        Her shoulders shook.

        "But in the end… I was the one who made you use it again."

        Anastasia said nothing at first. Her eyes remained closed, unseeing, yet her hands reached out, steady, certain, finding Isabella's face by touch alone.

        And in that moment, Isabella understood the cruelest truth of all.

        The curse of healing magic was not just that it stole life. It was that someone as kind as Anastasia would never hesitate to pay that price.