Dark Magic and the Dark Arts always caused some kind of side effect. It was already proven when one looked at all those wizards who practiced them — they grew sick, and some even went mad, losing their sanity completely.

But that didn’t stop Theodore from using them. Quite the opposite — the young man had a deep fascination with dark magic. He studied it obsessively and stood out whenever the topic came up. Perhaps it was because of his upbringing, or maybe out of a desire for revenge against his father — a cruel man.

He was wasting away. His skin had turned pale, his dark circles deepened by the day, and his unshaven face showed he barely had the strength to wash himself anymore.

It was the last class of the day. Theo trembled; he was feverish, sweating, and barely able to stand. He hugged himself, lips pressed tight in nervous tension, trying to focus on the lecture — but it didn’t work. Within seconds, a loud thud echoed through the room: he had nearly collapsed over a pile of parchment.

Some students whispered as he sat down on the benches at the back of the room, waiting for the last five minutes of class to pass — since he refused to see the nurse.