Page 159 of Magical Mischief

The stone of the arch had paled.

“Look at the carvings,” I said, voice low.

Butterflies, once bright with hints of color etched deep in the runes, were dull. Some were barely visible, like they’d been rubbed away by time, weather, or something more deliberate.

I stepped closer and pressed my hand against the arch. My birthmark burned under my shirt.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

Keegan moved beside me, brushing his hand just above mine. He did not touch the stone, but it was close enough that I felt the electricity between us.

“I’ve never seen it like this,” he said. “The Wards can change… sure. Shift with the balance of magic. But this?” His voice dipped. “It looks like it’s unraveling.”

“But this was the strongest one,” I said, confused. “Even when the others faltered, the Butterfly Ward held. It was always steady. Alwaysthere.”

He nodded. “It was rooted. Deep. Connected to the land, to the village, to—” He broke off. “Toyou.”

I met his eyes. “So why is it breaking now?”

He didn’t have an answer. Neither did I.

We stepped through the arch together. The air inside was still, quiet in a way that felt unnatural. It didn’t resist us—if anything, it felt too easy to cross. Like the Ward didn’t care anymore who came or went.

Inside the circle, the butterflies were gone.

Not real ones—those only came in spring—but the magical ones. The little pulses of light that used to drift around the Ward boundary like sleepy fireflies. I didn’t realize how much I’d come to expect them until they weren’t there.

“This place always felt alive,” I whispered.

Keegan nodded. “Now it feels… emptied.”

We stood in silence, the snow muffled around us. Even the wind seemed to avoid the ward today.

“Is it the Academy?” I asked. “Is opening it weakening the Wards somehow?”

“No,” Keegan said immediately. Then he paused. “At least, not the way we think of it. Yes, the Wards and the Academyare woven together. But if anything, the return of the Academyshouldbe strengthening them.”

“Then what is this?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crouched near the stone at the center of the Ward, where the old runes spiraled out like a galaxy. They were faint now, and some had cracked through the middle.

“I think this is the curse,” he said finally.

I knelt beside him, my gloved fingers brushing the stone. The air here felt thinner, like breath didn’t fill your lungs the way it should.

“But it’s not supposed to touch the Wards,” I said.

He looked at me. “Maybe it’s not. Not directly. But if the Wards were feeding off the Academy’s magic, and the Academy has been fractured for years…”

“Then when it starts waking again, the magic shifts,” I said, finishing the thought. “And the curse finds new places to push.”

He stood. “We need to tell Elira. And Nova. Maybe even Ardetia.”

I rose with him, glancing back toward the arch.

“Do you think it can be repaired?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if it can’t, and the curse keeps spreading…”