Chapter 5 Olivier
OLIVIER
Olivier Dupont was beginning to think he hated magic.
What good was it to him, anyway? All it ever seemed to do was get him into trouble.
If it wasn’t an angry horde of shadow monsters hell-bent on eating him alive or a bloodthirsty replica of himself nearly destroying the love of his life, it was something equally horrific and traumatizing.
Sure, magic had its perks—mainly when it came to enchanted liquors and magically induced highs—but in the grand scheme of things, magic was a monstrous pain in his ass.
Of course, his judgment on the matter was perhaps a bit clouded.
“I need you to stop fidgeting,” said Analisa, a rather impatient groan in her voice.
Ever since the Resistance had been made aware of Olivier’s…
condition…he’d been seen by numerous healers nearly every day, a never-ending stream of forced smiles and apologetic murmurs.
Analisa, however, had been a constant presence throughout each mortifying healing session.
Of all the healers in the Resistance, she seemed to be the one most obsessed with unraveling the chaos happening inside Olivier’s mind.
“Apologies,” Olivier muttered in a tone that was far from apologetic. “It tickles.”
“It does not.”
“Really?” Olivier arched a brow. “Have you had someone magically poke around in your mind before?”
Analisa frowned, crossing her arms in irritation. “No. I haven’t.”
“Then I suppose you don’t really have room to talk, now, do you?”
“Just hold still,” mumbled Analisa, stepping toward Olivier.
He was seated on one of the inspection tables, feet pressed against the stone floor.
The healer positioned herself in front of his knees, lifting her hands toward Olivier’s head.
Christ, he hated this part. It made him feel nauseatingly vulnerable—as though he were carving himself open and offering his organs for dissection.
But it was also his only hope…and that, perhaps, hurt more than anything.
Despite having found a loophole, a way out of the Decennial, that had saved Emilio, Olivier hadn’t managed to find a way to save himself.
The Forgetting. It was still corroding his brain, stripping him of memories with each passing day, preparing him for the inevitable conclusion to his duty as a reaper of lost souls.
The healers within the Resistance had spent nearly every waking hour attempting to find a solution.
They’d never encountered anybody with Olivier’s condition.
All the members of the Resistance had left Blackwood before the Forgetting could take over.
The healers had discovered that the source of the Forgetting wasn’t just Silas’s betrayal, but the school itself.
If you managed to escape Blackwood before the Forgetting’s corrosive effects took over, you’d be spared.
Safe. But if the process had already begun, even leaving the school’s perimeter wasn’t enough to stop it.
They were trying to help—Olivier knew that. But it was hard to feel grateful when he spent most of his time locked up in the Healing Bay, getting poked and prodded like some science experiment.
Nothing seemed to stop the memories from fading. In fact, with each passing day, he swore his mind was quite literally unraveling. He’d been having strange dreams. Hearing things in the night.
Honestly, losing his mind was proving to be a major inconvenience.
“Go easy on me,” Olivier whispered through a half-hearted chuckle.
“I’ll try.”
Analisa shut her eyes and began her work.
Olivier felt it instantly. His mind became sluggish and cold, as though the world around him were moving in slow motion, time bending and warping at the edges.
Shimmering silver threads slithered out of his head, connecting with the healer’s fingertips, which she began to twist and move around into varying patterns.
Each thread was a different memory. Olivier wasn’t entirely certain how he knew, but it was a subconscious understanding.
He could feel the memories nestled inside him—his father teaching him how to ride horseback, his mother reading him a children’s book by candlelight, the feeling of tall grass slipping between his fingers as he walked around his family’s farm.
But there was also an unmistakable rot leaking into the memories, a dark nothingness slowly engulfing them.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Olivier choked out.
Analisa said nothing, continuing her work in silence.
Beads of sweat gathered at her forehead, veins rising at her temples.
Healing magic was new to Olivier, but he was constantly amazed at the sheer strength radiating from the healers he had encountered.
There was something profoundly powerful in having the ability to mend a soul, rather than destroy it.
And despite Olivier’s disdain for the whole routine of these healing sessions, he couldn’t help but secretly admire Analisa’s work.
Learning the art of healing magic wasn’t as simple as reading an instruction manual.
It took centuries to master. Which meant the sanctioned healers of the Resistance also happened to be some of its founding members.
They had been a part of the Resistance before it even had a purpose.
When it had been nothing but a few lost souls floating aimlessly in purgatory, refusing to pick a side in the afterlife’s looming war.
Analisa dropped her hands. The silver threads connecting her to Olivier slowly dissolved.
“There hasn’t been a lot of progress,” she admitted with a sigh. “I’ve delayed it slightly…slowed the corrosion temporarily…but no matter what I do, I can’t seem to restore the memories. They just—” She let out a breath, frustration lacing her words. “They just keep fading.”
“So,” Olivier said, resting his hands upon the inspection table and leaning back. “In layman’s terms…I’m screwed?”
Analisa frowned. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“Well, I’d hope not. That would be terrible bedside manner.”
Analisa crossed her arms, unamused. “Olivier. I think it’s time we talk about the possibility that—” But her words were cut off as the door swung open, revealing two familiar faces.
Emilio and Masika were standing side by side, waiting in the doorway.
There was a sort of frantic look in Masika’s eyes, an infectious eagerness that made Olivier want to leap from the table.
Emilio, on the other hand, looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
Despite Emilio’s clear annoyance over whatever Masika had dragged him in here for, Olivier felt a rush of relief upon seeing him.
They’d barely spent any time alone together since arriving at the Resistance’s manor, sharing fleeting conversations during brief moments of respite.
It wasn’t their fault. Emilio had been swept up by the rigorous training routine that every Resistance member was forced to participate in, while Olivier had been unwillingly crowned the Healing Bay’s most fascinating medical anomaly.
Which meant these moments, brief as they might have been, meant everything to Olivier.
“Can I help you?” Analisa asked, brow quirked.
“We…uh—” Masika cleared her throat. “We need to take Olivier to a mandatory combat session.”
Analisa crossed her arms. “His training isn’t for another hour.”
Olivier squinted at Masika, a silent communication passing between the two of them.
Play along.
Olivier didn’t hesitate. He jumped to his feet and placed a comforting hand on Analisa’s shoulder.
“She’s right,” he chimed in. “I forgot to tell you. It got moved up.” When Analisa opened her mouth to say something, Olivier gently patted her shoulder, interjecting before she could get a word out, “I promise I’ll be on time tomorrow.
And then you can tear open my mind to your heart’s content, okay? ”
Analisa frowned.
“Do not be late.”
Olivier lifted his hand into a mocking salute.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
He walked past Analisa, offering one final wink before sauntering out of the room, Emilio and Masika on his heels.
The trio scurried down the hallway, putting distance between them and the Healing Bay.
As they walked, Olivier spared Emilio a fleeting look, which instantly caused the other boy to blush.
Olivier bit back a smile.
“Hello, my love.”
The tips of Emilio’s ears reddened.
“Hi, Olivier.”
Masika rolled her eyes, grabbing the two boys by their wrists and tugging them in closer.
“Look, you two will have plenty of time to stare into each other’s eyes and marvel at each other’s beauty, but right now, we have something we need to do.”
Olivier sighed. “I’m listening.”
Masika glanced cautiously over her shoulder, as though waiting to hear if anybody was approaching. After a few seconds, she reached into her waistcoat, revealing a large iron key dangling between her fingers. “Want to join me in doing something unequivocally dangerous and stupid?”
“Masika, dear…” Olivier smirked, placing his arm over Emilio’s shoulder. “I’m offended you’d even ask.”