Enzo paced the study restlessly, flipping through the pages of the ancient tome in his hands. The paper cracked slightly with each rough motion, but Enzo was long past worrying about books. If he couldn't find a solution, a cure—

His brown eyes burned, and he blinked rapidly. He couldn't think of that. He wouldn't think of that. There had to be something. Anything. He refused to believe that the magic he'd spent years perfecting, that had made him the pride of the duke's household, would fall short when he needed it most.

"Something," he muttered to himself, hips lips pressing into a thin line as page after page yielded nothing. "I'm on the cusp of something. I can feel it. I just need..."

The soft sounds of familiar steps echoed behind him, and Enzo's back immediately straightened. He was a professional first and foremost, and he couldn't allow his charge to see him in such a state. He quietly slipped a quill between the pages as a makeshift bookmark and slid the book back on the shelf before turning to face the young noble.

"You should be resting," he chided gently, his hands folded behind his back to keep them from trembling. "Your condition will not improve by wandering around the halls."

His charge's pale complexion and wan smile made his heart clench painfully. They both knew the noble's condition wouldn't improve regardless. Enzo had pored over countless texts; everything told him that mana sickness was irreversible. That once the body began to gradually lose its mana reserves instead of regenerate them, the afflicted was doomed to wither away.

Enzo stepped forward, producing a vial of mana potion from his jacket. He always had one on him these days; all they did was delay the inevitable, the healers had told him—but Enzo didn't want to believe this was inevitable. He just needed time.

"Please. Drink," he urged softly. Enzo knew he was only a butler, a caretaker, but to him, his charge was his whole world. He'd raised the young noble from birth. "And rest, I beg. I will find a way. I swear."