[Ovelia’s POV]
I stared down at my bowl, at the half-eaten pudding that now seed frivolous compared to the dark, complex truths being laid out on the table. I was grateful for Gale’s detailed, if gruff, explanations. They stripped away the mystery and replaced it with a cold, logical horror I could almost grasp. The dark mana stones, the dark mana woven into the restraints... it was a specific, tangible evil, not just a vague ’bad magic’. Understanding it, piece by dreadful piece, felt like lighting a candle in a frightening room—the shadows beca clearer, and sohow more nacing.
My thoughts snagged on a mory: Lady Firera’s voice in my mind, back when we were in adowlark Village. ’Ann carries not a curse, but traces of dark mana within her.’ At the ti, it was just another bewildering piece of information. Now, it connected with a sickening click.
Did that an Ann could use dark magic? Had she already been touched by this corrosive power? The thought was unsettling. There was still so much I didn’t know about her—the life she led before, the training she endured, the depths of the power she kept locked away.
I looked up and found Ray watching . His orange eyes held none of the strategic intensity they’d had monts before; instead, they were soft, almost apologetic, as if sorry I had to hear all of this .I realized I’d been sitting with the spoon dangling from my lips like a child caught daydreaming. I quickly pulled it out, setting it down with a soft clink against the bowl, and straightened my posture.
Ray placed his hands flat on the table, then slowly laced his fingers together, the gesture one of focused deliberation. "My second question to the black market contact," he began, his voice returning to its briefing-room cadence, "was whether he had begun selling finished, functional black magic restraints. His direct answer was ’no.’ According to him, what’s in circulation are still prototypes."
He paused, his gaze shifting to Gale, including him in the assessnt. "But he offered his professional opinion. He believes the prototypes are the final product. His reasoning: when he receives new stock of the black magic restraints, they show no signs of improvent or refinent. No increased efficiency, no design tweaks. This is in stark contrast to the early days of regular silver magic restraints, where every new batch from the artificers was noticeably better."
Gale, who had been examining his own fingernails, looked up. "That old werewolf couldn’t sense the mana inside them, sealed or otherwise," he stated flatly. "So his opinion is based on physical observation alone. He could be right. Or he could be completely wrong."
"So you’re saying he might be right because the sole purpose is simply to absorb and store, and a basic design does that adequately," Ace interjected, his mind clearly working through the logic. He picked up his water glass and took a long drink. "And he could be wrong because the witch might be improving the capacity or the efficiency of absorption in ways that aren’t visually apparent."
"Right," Gale said, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before it was buried under his usual smirk. "I didn’t expect you to piece that together so quickly."
"So," Ray said, leaning forward, his voice dropping. "The black magic restraints aren’t just tools for suppression. They can, in effect, beco mana stones themselves. Portable batteries filled with stolen power."
He stared at Gale, waiting for the final confirmation. The air in the room grew still, heavy with the implication.
"Yes," Gale confird, the single word dropping like a stone. His usual grumpiness was gone, replaced by a cold, historical certainty. "For many witches, the grudge from the Great Species Wars runs deep. To them, draining a werewolf isn’t just about restraint; it’s poetic justice. It’s revenge. And from a purely practical standpoint, why waste rare, mined mana stones when you have a walking, regenerating source right in front of you?" His gray eyes swept over Ace, Ray, and Ann. "As I said, werewolf mana replenishes quickly. You are, in the coldest terms, the perfect renewable resource."
"Like a cow being milked." The analogy ford in my mind, so stark and cruel I didn’t an to voice it. But the words escaped as a horrified whisper.
I saw the impact imdiately. Across the table, Ray’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along its side. Ann’s expression, usually so controlled, flickered—a raw flash of pain and then a hardening into sothing dangerously cold. It was a look that mixed profound sadness with a simring, directed anger. The dehumanization—the reduction of their people to livestock—struck a deep, personal chord.
"Now it all makes even more sense," Ann said, her voice a low, controlled vibration. She set her spoon down in her empty bowl with a precise click. "Why they would accept the masked n’s commissions. It’s not just for the large sums of money. It’s to take that revenge. To turn their enemies into... into a crop."
Ace, Ray, and Gale all gave slow, grim nods. The pieces of motive were locking into a ugly, coherent picture.
A new question, born from trying to map the extent of this violation, surfaced in my mind. I looked around at them. "Is the effect of the regular silver magic restraints the sa? Do they also... absorb mana?" I asked, my voice small in the quiet room.
Ace considered this, his brow furrowing. "It’s a possibility we’ve never considered," he said slowly, his voice tinged with new suspicion. "The silver ones weaken us, suppress the shift. If the chanism is similar..." He turned his head, his silver eyes seeking Gale’s expertise. "Could they be a milder version? A different design for the sa purpose?"
Beside , I saw Gale carefully slip the hexagonal sealed elental mana stone back into the hidden compartnt of the fairy stuffed toy. He zipped it shut with a soft sound.
He then held the toy out to . As I took it, our fingers brushed. His gray eyes t mine, and for a second, the perpetual annoyance in them was gone, replaced by sothing more assessing. "I like how your curiosity spikes, Ovelia," he said, his tone oddly flat, neither praising nor mocking. "It’s not a random question. It’s the right next question."
I took the stuffed toy back, holding it loosely. The way he said it... Was that actually a complint on my thinking, or was he just pointing out that my question had annoyed him by being too perceptive? With Gale, it was always hard to tell. The line between approval and irritation was vanishingly thin.
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