The office was wrapped in a relative calm, broken only by the rustling wind brushing against the windows and the golden light of sunset filtering through the sheer curtains.
Lyceum rose slowly from his desk, the dark wood covered in neat stacks of documents and handwritten notes.
He turned toward the wardrobe that occupied the back wall—an imposing structure of light wood that contrasted with the rest of the furnishings. He took a deep breath before opening it, as if preparing for an inevitable ritual.
Inside was his stockpile of vials.
Hundreds of tiny glass containers, neatly arranged on shelves and along the side walls. The yellowish liquid inside seemed to pulse faintly under the room's dim light, a movement that reminded Liceo of something alive, something dangerously familiar.
Even with the stoppers tightly sealed, the rancid odor spread through the air, making his nose wrinkle.
It took just one glance for a crushing weight to tighten around his chest.
The curse.
The Erchitu.
Fragmented memories flashed before his eyes—raw and vivid, as if they had happened just the day before. The first time he had transformed: the burning pain, the total loss of control, the guttural sounds that hadn't even seemed like his own. He had felt his bones breaking and reshaping, his body stretching and morphing into something unnatural, inhuman.
And then his mother.
The fear in her eyes.
The hand raised in defense.
The shadow of the beast he himself had become.
He saw himself smashing down the door after his father's roars had ordered him to flee. Even though not even he could control it, Mr. D'Agostini knew how to handle the curse.
But he didn't.
Lyceum was afraid.
He was running on all fours through the forest, trying to regain control over the beast.
It was horrifying.
It still is.
The rector of the park shook his head and clenched his teeth. He couldn't afford to give in to those memories. With a trembling hand, he grabbed one of the vials and shut the wardrobe, letting the click of the lock break the silence.
He sat back down at his desk, staring at the potion with a look full of disgust and resignation. It was always the same: he knew that mixture kept him in check, that it stopped him from becoming a monster, but the idea of drinking it made him sick.
He uncorked it, and the stench intensified—a mix of rotten eggs and oxidized metal.
Lyceum brought the vial to his nose for a moment, then jerked it away, swallowing hard.
There's no time for hesitation.
He took a deep breath and downed it in one gulp. The liquid slid down his throat like a stream of mud—warm and viscous—leaving behind a horrid taste, something acrid and bitter that twisted his facial muscles in a grimace of disgust.
He wiped his mouth with a hand and closed his eyes for a few seconds, waiting for the aftertaste to fade. He reminded himself this was only a small price to pay, but in those moments, he couldn't help wondering how long he would have to keep going like this.
How much longer would he remain a divine candidate, simply waiting?
When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell on the window. Outside, the Lilies Park shimmered with a soft, enveloping light, as the colors of evening blended with the glow of the torches lit by the students. His thoughts went to the young ones training, discovering themselves, trying to live with their divine origins. His lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no lightness in that expression.
He thought of Shirei and Dahlia Arcesio, the children of Cragar.
He had seen them that morning, with those eyes that seemed to dig into the soul of anyone they met. He couldn't blame them for their attitude, but their presence was a constant concern.
The children of the god of the dead had never been well regarded at the park—or anywhere else, really.
Too much prejudice, too much fear.
Even among the Blendbreeds, who should have understood what it meant to be feared for something beyond your control, there was mistrust. Lyceum felt it every time the two approached the others.
A whisper. A sideways glance.
They, too, carried a kind of curse on their shoulders.
And then there was him.
The rector.
He was supposed to be a guide for them, but he often wondered whether he was doing enough. Whether he was truly capable of protecting them from that constant judgment.
He had tried to speak with them, but Shirei only responded curtly, and Dahlia had a look that always seemed on the verge of tears, as if she feared being scolded at any moment. Lyceum didn't know the reason behind that reaction, but the feeling unsettled him.
He forced himself to look away from the window and return to the documents on his desk. Marina would be arriving soon, and there was still so much to do.
The shadow of that curse and the weight of his responsibilities accompanied him every day,but he couldn't allow them to stop him.
He had chosen this path for a reason: to ensure that no one—not even the most feared Blendbreed—would have to face alone what he had lived through.
And as long as he had the strength to fight, he would.
Drinking that horrible potion for the rest of his life would then be a mere nuisance to accept—for the sake of others.