Ulrich crossed the courtyard with long strides. The cold stone monuments of his family’s graveyard blurred past him.

He pushed onward until the grounds gave way to a secluded, grassy clearing. At its center stood the towering tree, its sprawling branches heavy with a breathtaking canopy of colorful, blossoming roses.

Sheltered beneath the vibrant petals and tangled roots, Anna-Maria had been laid to rest still. The quiet grove had become a frequent refuge for all three sisters, but Airam haunted it the most.

She came to rest and to contemplate. Above all, she used the isolation to safely manipulate and train her runes.

Ulrich had strictly forbidden such practice near the main estate, yet he turned a blind eye to her spellwork here. He knew she was not merely embracing her nature as a witch.

Practicing witchcraft was her mourning way. It was an anchor that brought her closer to her mother’s memory than anything else could.

Still, that leniency did not erase the gnawing concern in his gut. She was fated to become the most dangerous witch in the world. Sensing her erratic magic even from a distance was enough to set his nerves on edge.

Reaching the clearing, Ulrich stood tall, a harsh scolding already forming on his tongue. Yet the words died in his throat.

Airam was not awake. She was crumpled awkwardly on her side against the grass.

From a distance, she appeared to be sleeping, but the ragged, uneven rhythm of her breathing made him frown. Something was off.

His boots crunched softly against the grass as he closed the distance. Looking down, he noticed her parted lips gasping rapidly for air.

"Hah..."

She was caught in a feverish, half-conscious state, muttering rapid, inaudible whispers under her breath. As Ulrich stepped closer, a thick, viscous darkness suddenly oozed from her skin like bleeding ink.

Jagged, black runes materialized out of nowhere, hovering and pulsing with eerie energy above her prone form.

Recognizing the shapes instantly, Ulrich’s eyes widened. He dropped to one knee in the dirt.

"Airam," he called sharply. He reached out to grasp her shoulder and pull her from the trance.

Before his fingers could graze her shoulders, the dark mist whipped forward. It slammed against his hands with the force of a physical blow, swatting them aside.

Ulrich instinctively jerked back. He watched in silence as fresh blood welled up and dripped from sudden, deep lacerations across his palms, as if invisible blades had sliced his flesh.

"Nghh!" Airam let out a sudden, pained grunt. Her dark brows furrowed in intense discomfort as the magic ragged her from within.

Gritting his teeth, Ulrich thrust his bleeding hands back into the fray to seize her.

The dark ooze lashed out with doubled ferocity. The mist sliced viciously across his arms and bit deeply into his shoulder, drawing more blood to stain his clothes.

Worse, the creeping energy began to take hold of him. Thick, blackened veins started protruding unnaturally beneath his skin, spiderwebbing up his arms where the dark magic had made contact.

Ulrich ignored the searing pain. He pushed through the corruption biting into his flesh and channeled his own mana directly against hers.

A crimson signature flared to life around him. It crashed against Airam’s hovering dark runes, trying to dispel them, but the black magic resisted his efforts.

Narrowing his eyes against the backlash, Ulrich forced his way forward and clamped his uninjured hand down hard on Airam’s shoulder. He raised his bleeding hand and instantly summoned dozens of jagged crimson runes.

The red glyphs collided with the black, sending sparks of energy hissing into the cold air.

He was doing exactly what he had forbidden Airam to do. He was using raw runic manipulation, weaving magic without the safety of binding rings and geometric shapes.

But he had no other choice.

Beneath them, the vibrant grass withered and blackened. The corruption seeped outward, turning the lush earth into a pitch-dark rot that continued to spread hungrily from Airam’s body.

Gritting his teeth, Ulrich forced a tremendous surge of mana through his Hollow Core.

The speed at which he drew the power was terrifying, bordering on suicidal. Only the unique architecture of his Hollow Core allowed him to channel so much magic without tearing himself apart from the inside.

Slowly, his crimson hue began to overwhelm the darkness, swallowing the grove.

"Airam!!"

At the force of his voice, Airam’s eyelids fluttered open. Her blurry, dark gaze struggled to focus on Ulrich’s expression.

"Get control," he ordered. He moved his hand, resting his palm against her cold cheek to ground her.

Airam bit her lip. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a fraction of a second, fighting an internal battle, before forcing them open once more.

With a sudden, sharp gust of wind, the oppressive atmosphere shattered. The suffocating darkness vanished entirely, and the jagged black runes exploded into a harmless shower of dissipating particles.

Airam let out a harsh, trembling breath, gasping as if she had been held underwater for hours.

Ulrich exhaled a long breath of his own, catching her limp shoulders before she could collapse back into the dirt.

He had been naive. He had foolishly hoped that if she were kept safe and free from trauma, this dark aspect of her nature would remain dormant.

But it was a definite part of her. It reminded him of Ceres’s Thornbreath, yet far more deeply ingrained.

This darkness could not be extracted or cured. It was woven into the very fabric of her soul, an innate true nature that she subconsciously controlled, even when it appeared wild.

The only reason it hadn’t consumed her yet was because she had no conscious need for it. That, and the fact that her sisters remained by her side, acting as vital anchors for her humanity.

No matter how powerful it could make her, Ulrich could not let her tap into that abyss. Embracing pure black magic would eventually destroy her, and it would undoubtedly endanger the sisters he had sworn to protect.

Breathless, Airam’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She stared up at Ulrich, who was meticulously wiping away the last lingering remnants of her dark mana from the air for the last few minutes.

"You do not touch black runes," Ulrich said coldly but also seriously as he helped her sit up.

"I didn’t..." Airam managed to reply, her tone trembling but icy. "I was sleeping..."

"Then how did this happen?" Ulrich asked.

"I... have dreams," Airam whispered, dropping her gaze to the ruined grass.

"Nightmares?" Ulrich asked.

Airam offered a single nod.

"Is that why you refuse to sleep?" He asked, realization finally dawning on him.

She nodded again.

Ulrich stared down at the young witch. He clenched his hands into tight fists, ignoring the sting of his lacerated palms.

He despised the idea of Airam relying too much on witchcraft. But perhaps encouraging it was the only way to prevent her subconscious from reaching for the darkness when she was vulnerable.

"Black magic is evil. Do you understand me?" Ulrich warned.

Airam finally lifted her eyes. She stared at the black, corrupted veins slowly receding from Ulrich’s skin, and the fresh blood still dripping from his trembling fingers.

"It will hurt your sisters," he added, striking at the one thing she cared about most.

Airam went completely silent.

His harsh warning echoed vividly in her mind. They were the exact same words her mother had spoken to her, time and time again.

She had never voiced it aloud, but Airam knew the truth. Anna-Maria had kept them hidden from the Coven and witchcraft, mainly because of her, or perhaps for her.

"I won’t use it," she finally replied, averting her eyes to the shadows of the rose tree.

"Good," Ulrich said, rising to his feet.

Airam attempted to follow his lead and stand, but her legs buckled instantly.

Ulrich shot forward, his bloody hand catching her arm before she could hit the ground. She looked entirely drained, pale, and fragile as porcelain.

She raised her dark eyes to him, realizing instantly what he intended to do.

"No—"

Before she could finish her complaint, Ulrich leaned down and scooped her into his arms.

Airam scowled, grasping the fabric of his bloodied shirt in weak annoyance, but Ulrich ignored her protests. Without another word, he turned his back to the grave and carried her back to the estate.