It was quite a scary thought.
Just as the child had expected me to teach him, I too had my reasons for accepting this particular commission. My intentions were clinical. I merely wanted to study terminal illnesses more closely, to observe someone else carrying a burden similar to mine.
Perhaps a third-person perspective on something I myself was living through.
But seeing that same boy, who only days ago walked beside me in the village, laughing, asking questions, now unable to leave his bed…
It struck something deep within me.
Something I couldn’t quite explain.
“Can’t we… have our lessons in the garden… like before?” Lawine asked, his voice soft, frail.
“No, Young Master,” I said gently, shaking my head. “If you rest now and recover, you might have the strength to go out again later.”
And that was how the days passed by.
Our lessons took place in his bedroom now. In the afternoons, if he had enough strength, I would take him out for fresh air. We never went far, just a short stroll through the estate grounds, or time spent beneath the shade of the garden trees.
It was enough.
One such afternoon, as we walked slowly, Lawine glanced up at me.
“Professor,” he asked, “do you think… when people die… they forget everything?”
I looked down at him, caught off guard by the question. He wasn’t looking at me, just ahead.
“Like… do they forget what they wanted to become?” Lawine added. “Or the things they learned?”
“….”
I was silent for a moment.
No one had told him directly, but it was clear he knew. With all the sudden attention, the change in tone from the staff, and the careful way people moved around him… he had likely already pieced everything together.
Back to his question, how was I supposed to answer that?
Even I didn’t fully understand what death truly meant. Had I died in my previous life? Had my soul been transplanted into this world? There was Aston’s case, and even the legendary Sword Saint from centuries past, Izza.
Clearly, not all deaths were final. Some souls carried their burdens across lifetimes.
“That depends,” I finally said. “The body perishes, but the soul… the soul never forgets.”
Lawine blinked up at me, quietly absorbing those words.
“So… if someone wanted to become a mage… but they couldn’t…”
His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
“Would the soul still remember that dream?” he asked.
“Yes, it would. And if given the chance… it would try again.”
Whoosh—
Lawine didn’t speak for a while. The breeze rustled softly around us, scattering petals over the garden path.
Then he smiled faintly, still facing forward. “I want to try it today. My first ever spell.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Lawine nodded. “I might not get another chance….”
Each day that passed, Lawine’s time outdoors grew shorter. He could barely manage an hour outside before his body gave in. Now, even standing too long left him winded.
I watched him carefully, and for a fleeting moment, a thought crept in.
‘Will I end up like this too?’
Despite an estimated six years left, the illness in my own body felt suddenly closer.
And if that time came for me….
Would I want Charlotte to see me like this?
To be so weak, so fragile, and so vulnerable, to the point even a stranger would pity them?
No, I probably wouldn’t. Because I couldn’t bear to see that look in her eyes—the one Lawine’s brother wore so often.
I had observed Edward closely over the past days. Beneath his calm voice and respectable demeanor, there was a hint of hysteria building behind his eyes.
I could imagine how Charlotte would feel if she knew.
And worse, how she’d look at me because of it.
Maybe it was time to stop hiding. Maybe I did owe her the truth.
But even then…
Even now…
I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Not to her.
Not to anyone.
As I watched Lawine struggle to hold on to every second of his borrowed time, I realized I wasn’t ready to face my own.
I crouched beside him and pulled out the same sensory orb we had used before. I placed it gently into his trembling hands.
“Focus your breath,” I said. “Don’t rush the flow. Just feel it. Let it come to your fingertips.”
The orb functioned as a gauge to react to mana flow. If it didn’t glow, it meant the circuit wasn’t stable. It meant he had to adjust his output and find his center again.
Lawine was a smart boy.
If he had more time, if fate had been kinder, I had no doubt he would’ve become an extraordinary mage.
“….”
His lips pressed together now as he concentrated. The orb trembled faintly in his hands.
A flicker of light sparked inside it.
“That’s it,” I whispered. “Just like that.”
Lawine’s breath hitched slightly from the strain, but he didn’t stop. Nor did he let go.
“Cough! Cough…!”
The light flickered again, then stabilized, if only for a moment.
Then, to my surprise, he closed his eyes, drew in a shallow breath, and began to chant.
“By roots unseen and winds once still. By tender light the dawn shall spill….”
“….”
My eyes widened.
This incantation…
‘I’ve never taught him this.’
And yet his hands were glowing now.
“From barren earth, let grace take form… Let color bloom, and soil stay warm—”
Lawine’s eyes fluttered open, and a faint smile on his lips as he whispered the final word.
“Bloom.”
A soft pulse spread from his hand to the earth.
Squelch—
Tiny green shoots emerged from the ground near his feet. One by one, petals began to unfurl, and in a matter of seconds, a small bed of flowers had sprung to life in front of us.
He looked at me, breathless.
“I… I did it, Professor….”
I stared at the flowers, then back at him.
“…Where did you learn this?” I asked.
Lawine hesitated, then looked down at his hands which were still glowing faintly.
“It’s… my father’s spell,” he said quietly. “Or… at least, my version of it. I read about it in one of his old textbooks. It wasn’t complete, but I tried to piece it together the best I could.”
I said nothing.
He continued, “I’ve been trying to recreate it since I first started reading. He used to show it to me in the garden when I was little… I thought, if I could bring it back, maybe… he’d be proud.”
His eyes looking back at me were expectant, as if waiting for my praise.
But before I could speak, he smiled and said, “And this is my gift to you, Professor.”
He turned toward the flowers gently swaying in the wind.
“It’s not as good as yours… You didn’t even need a chant, but just like these flowers… your efforts in teaching me bloomed.”
“….”
The lump in my throat made it hard to speak. My usually steady hands tightened slightly at my sides.
“Cough! Cough…!”
At that moment, Lawine suddenly hunched forward and coughed violently into his sleeve.
“Lawine—”
“Cough! Cough…!”
His shoulders shook with each ragged inhale. I was at his side in an instant and steadied him as he swayed.
“That’s enough. Don’t talk,” I said. “We’re going back inside.”
* * *
The days that followed… were somber.
It had reached the point where Lawine could no longer find the strength to stand. The lessons had already stopped, yet in a way, they continued.
Lawine didn’t want to learn anymore. He just wanted to talk. To be distracted.
To not feel alone.
And so I sat beside him every day, letting him steer the conversation wherever he pleased.
Sometimes he’d ask about the world outside; the village, the capital, what nobles were like, or what kind of people Charlotte and I were surrounded by. He’d ask about my work in the university tower, what my students were like, how the lectures went.
Other times, he’d talk about his brother or childhood memories of his parents.
Occasionally he would laugh, though it always ended in a cough. Sometimes he smiled, though the light in his eyes grew dimmer with each passing hour.
But he never once complained.
Not once.
“Young Master, the doctor is here to see you,” one of the staff announced as they stepped into the room.
They bowed politely, then quietly exited, leaving the door slightly ajar. The doctor entered a moment later.
“How are we feeling today, Young Master?” the doctor asked.
Lawine gave a faint smile. “Tired. But the professor’s been keeping me entertained.”
The doctor nodded as he began his examination, placing a hand on Lawine’s wrist to check his pulse.
It was silent for a while until the doctor pulled back.
“….May I speak with you outside, Professor Vanitas?” he said.
Lawine looked between us, but said nothing.
“…I’ll be right back,” I said, slowly rising to my feet.
Lawine gave a small nod, his gaze following me for a moment before drifting back to the ceiling.
Stepping out into the hallway, the door clicked gently shut behind me. The doctor stood just a few steps away, arms crossed over his satchel.
“Marquess Astrea,” he began, “where is Lord Rothsfield? He needs to hear about this too.”
“He’ll be coming home soon,” I replied. “He’s out managing estate affairs in the southern village. He said he wouldn’t be long.”
“I won’t sugarcoat it. The boy doesn’t have much time left. A day, maybe two. Three if we’re fortunate.”
“….I see.”
“I’ve increased his pain suppressants, but… the deterioration is accelerating. You’ll notice him drifting in and out more frequently.”
I said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
The doctor adjusted his glasses. “When Lord Rothsfield returns, I’ll go over everything with him. For now, just… stay close. It’s important he doesn’t feel alone.”
“I intend to.”
A silence settled between us.
Then I spoke.
“Doctor… medicine has advanced to the point where nearly everything is curable now, hasn’t it?” I asked, eyes fixed on the far wall. “So then… how is it that terminal illnesses are still a thing?”
The doctor was quiet for a moment.
“Because some things don’t evolve as fast as the medicine that tries to catch them. Diseases mutate. Bodies wear down. And sometimes… no matter how far magic has come, it’s already too late.”
He cast a glance toward the door behind me, where Lawine lay just beyond.
“And sometimes….” he added, “no matter how much we try… the body just can’t be saved.”
“If his illness had been discovered earlier… he could’ve been saved, right?”
The doctor hesitated.
“That… depends. There are many variables. Some treatments are extremely aggressive and are simply too much for a child’s body to endure. Others are simple, just a chant or two. But the success depends on timing… on strength… and on the stage of the disease.”
“Don’t beat around the bush,” I said, frowning. “I’m asking about Lawine. Could he have been saved?”
The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“His condition, Crystallized Wave Syndrome, was already developing when he was around four years old,” he said quietly. “At that age, the mana veins near the heart were still incredibly delicate. Detecting it at that stage… might have made treatment possible. But…”
“But it would’ve been risky,” I finished for him.
“More than risky,” he confirmed with a slow nod. “The procedure required at that stage is classified as invasive magic-assisted surgery. Any miscalculation could’ve ruptured the mana heart entirely.”
He paused.
“There are documented survivors… but every one of them was an adult. Children, especially those as young as Lawine, aren’t equipped to survive something like that.”
“Still,” I muttered, “there was a chance.”
“A small one,” the doctor said. “But yes. There was.”
The real problem was that his illness had been discovered far too late.
I shifted slightly, then asked, “Then… do you know about Mana Core Degeneration Syndrome?”
The doctor blinked at the sudden change in subject. “It’s not my field of specialization, but yes. I’ve read about it. It’s a rare condition where cancer cells begin to erode the mana core while it’s still underdeveloped.”
“Then hypothetically,” I said slowly, “if a person who had that condition somehow pushed their mana core into a state of rapid development, if they strengthened its resilience and increased its capacity beyond its degenerative threshold… wouldn’t that mean the cancer cells would fail to keep up? That the core could, in theory, reject the disease on its own?”
The doctor furrowed his brows, considering.
“If we’re speaking hypothetically,” he said carefully, “then yes. In regular cases of cancer, a stronger host body and increased resistance can suppress, or even destroy cancerous cells. That’s basic theory.”
He paused.
“But Mana Core Degeneration Syndrome isn’t like regular cancer. From what I understand, once it starts, it intertwines with the core’s very growth process. It feeds off the development. In many cases, the faster the core grows, the faster the disease spreads, like adding fuel to a fire.”
That much, I already knew.
A mana core naturally developed as more magic was used. The stronger the mage, the greater the strain, and thus, the faster the degeneration.
But in my case, things weren’t so straightforward.
My core wasn’t growing because I was casting magic. It was growing because of my stigmata, Boundless Reservoir.
A trait that bypassed the natural order.
「Boundless Reservoir」
◆ Understanding: 15%
◆ Capacity: 30000/30000
A trait I had grown to this extent in the past months.
In any case, here was no precedent, medical journal, or records of anyone like me.
“I’ve heard all this before,” I murmured. “But… tell me honestly. Do you think it’s truly terminal?”
“From everything I’ve read, yes. There are no documented survivors. But… there have been cases of patients living well beyond their prognosis. The key in those situations was that they stopped using magic completely.”
I nodded slowly.
Just as my personal Doctor, Yves, had told me.
* * *
Dead of night.
——Cough! Cough!
Frantic coughing echoed down the hallway. It was harsh enough to jolt Vanitas awake.
“….!”
He sat up instantly.
“Lawine…” Vanitas muttered, already throwing on his coat as he rushed out of his room.
By the time he reached Lawine’s chambers, the door was already ajar.
Inside, chaos had taken hold.
Edward’s face was pale as he kneeled at his brother’s bedside, clutching Lawine’s trembling hand. The boy’s frail body convulsed violently with every cough.
Around them, the house servants who had tended to Lawine these past few weeks stood frozen in panic. Some covered their mouths, others whispered prayers. No one moved. No one knew what to do.
The doctor was already there, frantically checking his pulse, adjusting his breathing, casting minor healing spells to ease the pain. Sweat clung to his brow as he fought against inevitability.
And Vanitas….
“….”
Vanitas just stood there at the doorway without moving.
Watching.
Feeling that familiar chill of helplessness settle deep in his bones.
Edward’s voice broke through the room, cracking with grief.
“He was fine earlier! He smiled before going to sleep! Why now?! Why like this?! Tell me, Doctor!”
The doctor didn’t answer immediately. He was too focused.
Then, softly, he whispered, “His heart is failing…”
“No…” Edward’s head shook. “You said he had time. A day. Maybe two—”
“I said maybe two,” the doctor cut in, his voice low. “But this… this is a collapse. His body is shutting down.”
Lawine coughed again, his small chest rising and falling with more effort than before.
Vanitas finally stepped into the room, slowly approaching the bed.
“….”
He said nothing.
But his presence alone made Lawine’s eyes flutter open.
“P-Professor…?” the boy rasped, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips.
“I’m here,” Vanitas said quietly, kneeling beside him. “I’m right here.”
Lawine blinked slowly, his small fingers twitching slightly against the sheets.
“I…” he began, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to die…”
The room fell utterly still.
Edward bowed his head, unable to hold back the tears any longer. His shoulders shook silently as he gripped Lawine’s hand tighter, like it could anchor him to life.
Vanitas’s hand wrapped around the boy’s with careful strength.
“I know,” he murmured, steady but low. “I know, Lawine.”
He was the only one in the room who didn’t break. The only one who looked death in the eye without trembling.
“I don’t want to die…”
Lawine whispered again, as if trying to convince the world, or himself.
“I don’t want to die…”
This time, his voice trembled. His eyes began to blur, and hot tears slipped helplessly down his cheeks.
“I don’t want to die! Brother…!”
….Until the walls came crashing down.
Edward moved forward, pulling his brother into his arms as gently as he could, holding him like he was afraid he’d disappear the moment he let go.
“I’m here!” Edward cried, his voice ragged and breaking. “I’m right here, Lawine! You’re not alone. Do you hear me? You’re not alone!”
Lawine clutched at him weakly, his tiny fingers barely gripping the fabric.
“I still want to live!” he cried, as though saying it might make it true. “I’m scared! I’m so scared…! Why me?! Why me?! Why! Why can’t I stay…?!”
Edward held him tighter, as if he could shield him from reality. As if love alone could rewrite fate.
“I don’t know…” Edward whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t know, Lawine… I’m so sorry…”
The boy’s sobs began to fade, dissolving into soft hiccupped breaths that barely left his lips.
Vanitas stood silently beside them, unconsciously clenching his jaw as his hand rested gently on the boy’s shoulder.
And even then… even then… his expression remained calm.
Because someone had to stay composed.
Someone had to watch.
To bear witness.
To remember.
“Lawine!”
But the boy no longer responded.
Because the world… had already decided.
It would not wait.
It would not listen.
It would not give him more time.
And as the silence settled…
It was then they knew.
“….”
….Lawine Rothsfield was gone.