Revan's mind flickered to their encounters over the past few weeks. The shy girl who nervously asked to sit at his table in the cafeteria.
The same girl who almost atomized half the academy by casually carrying [Volatile Fire Essence] in her pocket like it was a lunch box. And now here she was, attempting a different kind of self-destruction.
'Is attracting danger just hardcoded into her DNA? At this rate, I should charge her family a protection fee.'
"A-ah...!"
A small yelp escaped from behind the book fortress.
Elara's foot caught on an uneven tile. Her body lurched forward. The tower began its inevitable collapse.
'Here we go again.'
Before his brain could finish the thought, his body was already moving.
Revan appeared beside Elara in a fraction of a second. His left arm wrapped around her waist, stabilizing her center of gravity, while his right hand shot upward to catch the toppling stack.
The books slammed into his palm with surprising force.
' Damiit is Heavy. as hell..!'
His wrist screamed in protest.
These weren't ordinary textbooks. They were dense, ancient slabs, easily weighing several kilos each.
The kind of dusty tomes that should be sitting neatly arranged on a restricted library shelf, not teetering in the arms of a teenage girl.
But Revan held firm.
Well, his arm trembled slightly.
But after surviving a battle against a Master-rank warrior, nearly dying twice in one night, and being dragged back from literal death by his psychotic mistress, admitting weakness from some dusty books would be too pathetic even for him.
"Eh? Eh?!"
Elara blinked rapidly, her brain clearly running several seconds behind reality. One moment she was falling, the next she was... not falling?
"R-Revan?!"
Her face, already flushed from exertion, turned a shade deeper when she registered their position.
His arm around her waist. Her back against his chest. Their faces close enough that she could count his eyelashes if she tried.
'T-this is exactly like that scene in "The Duke's Secret Beloved"!' Elara's mind screamed, referencing a romance novel she definitely didn't read under her blanket at 2 AM.
"You know," Revan said flatly, completely oblivious to her internal romantic crisis.
"when I saved you from that pocket-sized apocalypse, I assumed you'd learned your lesson about carrying dangerous things alone."
He released her waist and smoothly transferred half of the book stack to his own arms.
Elara stumbled slightly at the sudden loss of warmth—support.
"T-these are just books! They're not explosive!"
"No, but your spine might be."
Revan glanced at the remaining stack in her arms. His signature dead-fish eyes radiated pure, undiluted judgment.
"Let me guess. The Restricted Section?"
"Y-yes! How did you know?"
"Because only the Restricted Section has books this old and heavy. And only someone doing serious research would torture themselves like this when normal people would just... I don't know... make multiple trips?"
"B-but the Restricted Section closes at sunset, and I still have seventeen more books to—"
"Seventeen?"
"...maybe twenty-three?"
"Lady Elara."
"Twenty-eight at most! I promise!"
Revan stared at her with the exhausted patience of a man who had seen far too much in his thirty-four—no, fifteen years of existence.
'This girl is going to work herself into an early grave before any enemy gets the chance to kill her.'
"Fine," he sighed.
"But I'm helping you carry them. All of them. No arguments."
Elara opened her mouth to protest—something about not wanting to burden him, about him surely having more important things to do—but the look in Revan's eyes made it abundantly clear that this was not a negotiation.
"O-okay..."
'Well,' Revan thought as he adjusted the weight in his arms.
'the weapon shop isn't going anywhere. And this might actually be useful.'
He glanced at the titles on the books. His eyes narrowed.
"Chronicle of The Cursed Bloodlines."
"Origins of Divine Punishment."
"The Generation of Miracles: Blessing or Calamity?"
'Curse research?'
"Heavy reading material," he commented casually.
"Personal interest, or assignment?"
"P-personal research!" she answered quickly.
Elara's eyes lit up immediately.
The nervous, stammering girl from moments ago vanished, replaced by the daughter of the Imperial Grand Sage—a genius who could probably lecture professors twice her age.
"I'm writing a thesis on the origin and mechanics of hereditary curses. Specifically targeting the phenomenon affecting the so-called 'Generation of Miracles.'"
'Bingo.'
In Legends of Valtheris, Revan knew exactly what the "Generation of Miracles" meant.
They were individuals blessed by the Gods since birth—born with talents that defied human logic. Geniuses who could reshape the world with their abilities.
Sylvia von Vespera was one of them. A prodigy of Gravity Magic who reached heights that seasoned mages couldn't achieve in decades.
And Elara herself was another. The "Goddess of Healing," daughter of the Imperial Grand Sage.
But the game's lore contained a dark secret about these blessed individuals.
Every single one of them carried a curse.
'The [Curse of Withering] for Elara. And for Sylvia...'
Revan's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
'In the game, she eventually "falls" and becomes the Villainess who threatens to destroy everything. But I never understood why. The narrative just said she "succumbed to darkness."'
'Vague bullshit explanation from lazy developers.'
'But now I'm living in this world. And I need real answers.'
"Care to share your findings?" Revan asked, keeping his tone casual. "I'm curious about what makes these 'blessed ones' so... complicated."
Elara hesitated, glancing around the crowded hallway. Students passed by in clusters, some throwing curious glances at the odd pair—the academy's infamous "trash" carrying books for the Archmage's daughter.
"Not here. Too many ears."
"The library?"
"Restricted Section. I have access."
***
They walked side by side through the academy corridors, Revan still carrying half of her book fortress.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the arched windows, painting golden stripes across the marble floor. Outside, the distant sounds of magical training echoed—explosions, clashing steel, the occasional scream of a student who miscalculated their spell.
'Peaceful,' Revan thought sarcastically. 'Nothing says "elite academy" like daily near-death experiences.'
"You're not going to ask?"
Elara's soft voice broke his train of thought.
"Ask what?"
"Why I'm researching curses."
Revan glanced at her sideways. Behind those oversized glasses, her green eyes held a strange mixture of fear and determination.
"I assumed it was academic interest," he said neutrally. "The daughter of an Archmage pursuing forbidden knowledge. Sounds like a family tradition."
Elara let out a small, bitter laugh.
"If only it were that simple."
She didn't elaborate, and Revan didn't push.
They passed through the main library entrance—a massive oak door carved with ancient runes that supposedly recorded every visitor's identity.
The interior was equally grand: towering bookshelves that reached toward a ceiling painted with constellations, floating orbs of soft light drifting between the aisles, and the ever-present smell of old paper and preservation magic.
A few students sat at scattered desks, noses buried in textbooks. None of them looked up.
Elara led him toward the back of the library, past the common sections, past the advanced theory archives, until they reached a heavy iron gate guarded by a shimmering barrier.
She pressed her palm against the lock. A pulse of mana—and the barrier dissolved.
"After you," she said quietly.
Revan stepped through.
The Restricted Section was a different world entirely.
Where the main library was bright and orderly, this place felt old. Ancient. The bookshelves here weren't made of polished wood but rough stone, carved directly into the walls like the ribs of some colossal beast. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through narrow slits in the ceiling.
The air itself felt heavy—thick with accumulated knowledge and, Revan suspected, more than a few preservation wards designed to keep nosy students from touching things they shouldn't.
'If the main library is a museum, this place is a tomb.'
'A tomb filled with secrets people wanted buried.'
Elara guided him to a secluded corner, far from the entrance, where a small desk sat surrounded by stacks of books she had clearly been collecting for weeks.
This was her nest. Her research headquarters.
She set down the remaining books and turned to Revan with serious eyes.
"What do you know about the Generation of Miracles?"
"Surface level. Blessed by Gods. Extraordinary talents. The pride of the kingdom."
"That's the official story."
She pulled out a weathered tome, flipping to a marked page.
"The truth is much darker."
Revan leaned closer.
"The Gods didn't just bless these individuals," Elara continued.
"They marked them. And every mark comes with a price."
She traced her finger along an ancient illustration—a figure surrounded by light, but with dark cracks spreading across their body.
"The Generation of Miracles aren't just talented. They're... vessels. Containers for power that human bodies were never meant to hold."
"Vessels?"
"Think of it like this. A normal person's soul is a cup. It can hold a certain amount of divine energy safely. But the Generation of Miracles? Their souls are cracked cups. They can hold far more power, but..."
"The cracks spread," Revan finished.
"Exactly."
Elara's voice dropped to a whisper.
"That's where the curses come from. The cracks in our souls aren't just metaphorical. They're literal weaknesses that allow negative energy to seep in."
She unconsciously touched her forearm—where Revan knew the gray lines of her [Curse of Withering] were hidden beneath her sleeve.
"Every time we use our gifts, the cracks widen. Every time we experience strong negative emotions—hatred, despair, jealousy—the curse feeds on it and grows stronger."
'Negative emotions accelerate the curse.'
Revan's mind immediately jumped to Sylvia.
The Ice Queen who suppressed every feeling behind a mask of cold indifference.
'How much negativity has she been swallowing all these years?'
'How deep are her cracks?'
"What happens when the curse reaches its limit?" Revan asked quietly.
Elara's face paled.
"We fall."
"Fall?"
"The accumulated curse overwhelms the soul. The person loses themselves entirely. They become..."
She swallowed hard.
"...Calamities. Monsters of destruction that can level cities. Ancient disasters wearing human skin."
Revan felt ice crawl down his spine.
The titles on the books triggered a violent flash of memory. For a split second, the library walls melted into the nightmare 'Bad Endings' he'd seen on screen.
Blood-red skies. Cities in ash. The screams of thousands as a member of the Generation of Miracles lost control. Back then, it was just pixels and lore.
But now, he was the one who had to stand in the path of that destruction.
The sheer weight of that future twisted his stomach.
"Is there a cure?" Revan asked.
"I'm researching that."
Elara gestured to the pile of books.
"Theoretically, if we can stabilize the cracks in the soul—reinforce them somehow—the curse can be contained. But no one has ever succeeded."
"Yet."
Elara blinked at him.
"You said 'no one has ever succeeded,'" Revan clarified.
"That doesn't mean it's impossible. Just that no one has found the answer yet."
A small, surprised smile appeared on her face.
"You're... unexpectedly optimistic."
'Not optimistic. Desperate.'
'If I can't find a way to prevent Sylvia's fall, this entire world goes to hell. And I'll be buried along with it.'
Before Revan could respond, a cold voice cut through the air.
"Lady Elara. What a pleasant surprise."