Chapter 25

  CORRUPTION

  The breeze brushed Max’s cheek with the softness of an ancient whisper. He was sitting in a nearly forgotten square, breathing slowly, existing without haste, letting himself be wrapped in the calm that this solitary corner offered him. For the first time in a long while, he felt human again.

  —Here’s your matcha tea —Gabriel said, pulling him out of his thoughts—. I honestly don’t understand how you can drink that.

  —I developed a taste for it after awakening my magic —Max replied—. It gives me a strange feeling, but a pleasant one… as if it reacts to what I am now. Or to what I was before? —he smiled tiredly—. Sometimes I don’t know what came first: the human or the warlock.

  He took a sip and let his head rest on Gabriel’s shoulder, searching for a silent refuge.

  —Max?

  The voice came from behind, clear and familiar, like an echo from the past.

  —Jazmín… it’s so good to see you —he said, standing up immediately to hug her.

  —Where have you been all this time?

  —Uh… studying from home —he replied, avoiding her gaze—. My parents are sick and need company twenty-four hours a day.

  The words tasted false even to him.

  —Is it serious? —Jazmín asked, wrapping him in another hug—. You know you can count on me.

  —With medication and rest they’ll be fine, don’t worry —Max hurried—. And Tatiana? How is she?

  Jazmín frowned before sitting down beside him.

  —It’s very strange… a few days ago her family moved away. She said goodbye, and after that I didn’t hear anything else. I’m worried, but I don’t want to insist if she doesn’t want to talk —then she looked at Gabriel—. Oh, how rude of me. I’m Jazmín.

  She held out her hand.

  —Gabriel —he replied, accepting the gesture with a polite smile.

  That was when something broke.

  Jazmín froze, her gaze fixed on Gabriel. Her right eyelid began to twitch, as if an invisible force were trying to break through from within.

  —I… I… Ga… bri… el… —each syllable seemed torn from her throat.

  —Jazmín?! —Max exclaimed.

  Fear did not paralyze him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, a lavender glow ignited in his gaze. The world changed texture: colors vibrated, the air pulsed.

  —The spell… —he murmured—. The magic that forced you to forget him is leaving your body.

  He held Jazmín’s face gently and signaled for Gabriel to help. Together they laid her down on the cold ground of the square.

  —How can you know that? —Gabriel asked, uneasy—. You shouldn’t be able to…

  —I can see the traces —Max interrupted—. It’s mental magic. I didn’t know I had it, but it’s there.

  Jazmín opened her eyes one last time, disoriented.

  —Max…? —she whispered—. Laura!

  And the world went dark.

  Her body fell limp, while the air around her still trembled with the remnants of an ancient magic that refused to die.

  They called an ambulance without losing a second. The sound of the siren arrived too late and too soon at the same time; the minutes stretched like hours until they finally crossed the hospital doors. They explained what had happened, omitting any trace of magic, disguising the impossible with ordinary words. After a medical checkup, the verdict was simple: Jazmín was out of danger. She only needed fluids, food, and rest.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  —Hi —Max said when she opened her eyes, offering her a warm, almost fragile smile.

  —What happened…? —Jazmín rubbed her eyes and then looked at Gabriel, confused—. Who is he?

  The question fell like a stone.

  —You don’t remember him? —Max hid the knot in his throat—. It doesn’t matter, he’s a friend. I called your father; he’ll be here soon. I have to go, but I’ll write to you.

  He kissed her forehead carefully, as if afraid of breaking something invisible, and left the room with Gabriel.

  The hospital hallway was silent, bathed in a cold light that made Max’s skin prickle. That cold reminded him too much of the day everything began. Gabriel grabbed his arm and stopped him.

  —Max… she didn’t remember me —he said quietly—. If the magic left her body, why doesn’t she remember me?

  Max pressed his lips together before answering.

  —I don’t know. I don’t even understand why contact with you broke the spell… —raising his gaze, he added—. But I saw something. I recognize Cristina’s magic; I know how it feels. This had her trace, yes… but it was altered, distorted. There was something else. We need to talk to her.

  Raían laughed as he played with three girls in the center of the village of Arbolaria Viate: a witch, a half-demon, and an angel. Three opposing natures sharing laughter under the same sky. Cristina watched them from a distance, with a quiet, almost reverent tenderness, as if the scene were a fragile miracle.

  Raían noticed her gaze and laughed nervously. That proud incubus shrank under her eyes, and that, curiously, seemed charming to him.

  —Cristina, we need to talk —Max said as he approached, with a seriousness that did not go unnoticed.

  —Of course… let’s go to my cabin —she replied, tensing slightly.

  The cabin was filled with books up to the ceiling: grimoires, alchemical treatises, ancient chronicles. The air smelled of old paper and dried herbs. Cristina prepared two matcha teas, and they sat around a table covered with maps and timeworn documents.

  —Thank you —Max said, taking the cup—. Today we ran into a friend, Jazmín. When she touched Gabriel’s hand, your spell began to break.

  Cristina looked up immediately.

  —I saw the magic leaving her body —he continued—, but it wasn’t normal. It was… corrupted. Something inside me screamed for me to get away. And when she woke up, she still didn’t remember him… but for an instant, she did. I know it.

  The silence that followed was dense, heavy with omens. Magic, clearly, had not finished speaking.

  Cristina remained still for a moment, as if Max’s words had altered the air around her. She took a slow sip of her tea, buying time to organize what she had just heard.

  —You saw the magic? —she finally asked, carefully, as if fearing that saying it out loud might make it real.

  —Yes…

  Cristina let out a brief, incredulous laugh, tinged with awe.

  —By Hecate… you’re full of surprises, my friend. Since when?

  —Since your spell broke —Max replied—. At first I thought I was losing my mind. I thought it was some kind of brain damage… but then I started noticing patterns. Strange lights, invisible threads emanating from objects in the Grand Hall, flashes every time someone cast a spell. It wasn’t imagination.

  —And why didn’t you tell me?

  Max lowered his gaze.

  —I was afraid. Many witches already fear me. If they knew I have a second gift, and that it’s mental magic, not quantum… I don’t want to imagine how they’d react. I don’t want them to fear me just for existing.

  Cristina placed her hand on Max’s shoulder, firm and warm.

  —I understand —she said softly—. If you wish to keep it secret, I’ll respect your decision. But don’t ignore that gift. Magical perception is rare… and dangerous to waste. Properly trained, it can save lives.

  —I always wanted to be a tracking dog —Max joked.

  Cristina’s laughter joined his, light, breaking the tension for a moment.

  Then her expression changed.

  —Corrupted magic… —she murmured—. What you described… I think I’ve read about it before.

  She stood abruptly and began rummaging through the shelves. Ancient papers flew, heavy grimoires fell to the floor with a dull, almost stony sound. Chaos filled the cabin until, suddenly, she stopped.

  Cristina held a book as if she had unearthed something that should never have seen the light again.

  —Here! —Cristina exclaimed, dropping the book onto the table with a sharp thud.

  Dust rose into the air as she opened the yellowed pages.

  —In the Middle Ages, priestess witches began creating enchanted objects —she read—. Runic artifacts meant to amplify the magic of their own… until a witch named Enabis committed the sacrilege of giving them to humans.

  She looked up, grave.

  —The artifacts granted them power, yes, but at a terrible cost: each use drained their vital energy. Kings and lords began to… —her voice broke—. Gods… they forced enslaved children to use them, because their bodies endured longer. That energy was called corrupted magic, and the bearers were called Damnatus: cursed ones who lost their sanity as they drew closer to the grave.

  She ran her finger along an underlined line.

  —Corrupted magic leaves traces. It causes nausea, chills… and worst of all, it infects other spells.

  —So… there could be a Damnatus out there? —Max asked, a knot forming in his stomach.

  Cristina slowly shook her head.

  —The book claims that all the artifacts were recovered from human hands. I don’t believe there’s a witch so miserable as to repeat something like that… —she clenched her teeth—. Although Sabine…

  She slammed her palm on the table.

  —The Grand Hall guarded a vault of artifacts. None of them worked with humans, except one: the Staff of Mor. It was charged with powerful protective spells. But if the Grand Hall was completely destroyed… those seals were destroyed as well.

  —What exactly did it do? —Max asked, thinking of Jazmín.

  —In the hands of a floriferous witch, it could heal entire hectares of crops ravaged by plagues.

  Max swallowed.

  —And in the hands of a Damnatus?

  Cristina hesitated.

  —I don’t know for certain. The book says magic manifests the same way for any bearer, but… —she closed the volume slowly— if someone was exposed to the staff for too long, there’s a possibility the magic mutated.

  —Mutated?

  —Magic feeds on emotions —she explained—. Artifacts, sooner or later, destroy the human mind: psychosis, hallucinations, paranoia. The world becomes incomprehensible and hostile. Everything is stained with fear, rage, despair… and those emotions sustain them.

  She finished her tea and stood up.

  —We have to find your friend Jazmín. I’ll ask the Order of Atlantis to send one of their own, undercover as a civilian. They’ll be our eyes while we move.

  —Is all that really necessary? —Max asked, overwhelmed.

  Cristina stopped at the door.

  —Max, if there’s a Damnatus out there, it won’t be a clean battle. And we still have to watch out for Sabine and her entourage of monsters —she looked at him firmly—. Don’t worry. We’re going to help her.

  The door closed behind her.

  Max was left alone in the cabin, surrounded by shadows and ancient books. He prayed in silence, though he no longer knew which god to address.

  He asked for only one thing: that Jazmín would be all right.