I Killed The Main Characters

Xander lay on his bed in Ironwood Hall, staring blankly at the ceiling above him.

The dark, silent night weighed heavily on his chest, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake off the suffocating emptiness gnawing at his insides.

His body felt heavy, depleted, as though every ounce of energy had been drained from him.

He hadn't moved in hours, except to shift slightly in his bed, his mind too overwhelmed to focus on anything else.

On the desk beside him sat a crumpled letter, the wax seal broken, its once neat folds now carelessly undone.

Xander's eyes flickered toward the letter, though he wasn't sure why he kept it in sight.

It was as if its very presence taunted him, reminding him of the words he couldn't escape.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Despite his efforts to avoid it, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the contents of the letter.

It had arrived only that morning, delivered by one of the academy's messengers.

He knew right away it wasn't good news.

The handwriting was shaky, unlike the neat script his mother usually used.

His stomach had twisted even before he read the words.

---

Dearest Xander,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, though I wish I could say the same for your father. His condition has worsened beyond what we feared.

The doctors... they don't know how long he can hold on.

They've discovered that his body is slowly deteriorating from within.

It seems his exposure to corrupted mana—years ago now—has done irreversible damage.

The corruption is attacking his internal organs, and he bleeds more often these days.

Even the simplest tasks leave him exhausted.

He tries to stay strong for us, but we all see the toll it's taking on him.

We have consulted every healer, doctor, and alchemist across the continent.

They all say the same thing—there is no cure.

This disease, they tell us, is spreading. Many have begun to fall ill from similar symptoms, and no one knows how to stop it.

Your father asked me not to write to you about this, not wanting to distract you from your studies.

But you deserve to know the truth.

Please, don't let this burden weigh too heavily on you.

Focus on your future at Ravenwood. Your father would want that more than anything.

With all my love,

Mother

---

The words replayed over and over in Xander's mind, no matter how hard he tried to push them away.

His father—the strong, stoic man who had always seemed indestructible—was now wasting away.

Corrupted mana had invaded his body years ago, back when he had fought to protect their land.

Xander remembered that time vividly, remembered his father standing tall despite the odds.

But now, that strength was slipping away.

His father was dying.

The realization had hit Xander like a blow to the gut.

There was no cure.

There was nothing anyone could do.

The finest healers and alchemists on the continent were baffled by the disease.

The corrupted mana ate away at the body slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left.

Xander squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images that flooded his mind.

He remembered the last time he had seen his father, before he left for the academy.

He had seemed tired, yes, but he had still been his father—still full of life and resolve.

Now, that image was crumbling, replaced by the thought of a man struggling to hold on, his body betraying him more with each passing day.

He wished he could go back.

He wished he could do something.

But here he was, stuck at Ravenwood, trying to focus on exams and studies while his father's life slipped away hundreds of miles from him.

'Why didn't I notice it before?'

Xander thought, frustration bubbling up inside him.

His mother had kept it from him, of course.

His father, too, had probably hidden his suffering.

They didn't want to distract him from his studies.

They didn't want him to worry. But how could he not worry now?

His mind kept circling back to the thought of the disease.

A rising sickness with no cure—spreading across the continent.

How many others were suffering from the same affliction?

How many more would fall ill before a cure was found, if one was even possible?

Xander had always known the dangers of corrupted mana, but he had never imagined it would come for his family like this.

His heart ached with helplessness.

There was nothing he could do from here. Nothing at all.

Xander opened his eyes again and stared up at the dark ceiling, his body numb from the weight of his thoughts.

The room felt colder now, or maybe it was just his imagination.

He hadn't lit a fire in the hearth, not bothering to stave off the evening chill.

The letter seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming in through the window, a silent reminder of everything he couldn't fix.

He wanted to crumple it up, to throw it away, but he couldn't bring himself to.

The words would still be there, burned into his mind.

You deserve to know the truth.

His mother's words echoed in his head.

It wasn't just about his father anymore.

It was about the future of their family, their household.

If his father died... what would happen then?

He wasn't even sure he wanted it. But that wouldn't matter if the time came.

The thought made him feel sick.

He had always assumed there would be more time.

Time to finish his studies.

Time to grow stronger.

Time to prepare.

But now, it seemed like time was slipping away faster than he could keep up with.

Xander's eyelids grew heavier as exhaustion finally began to claim him.

His mind was too tired to fight anymore.

The weight of the world was pressing down on him, but there was nothing he could do to lift it.

His chest ached with a hollow sense of loss, even though nothing had happened yet.

But he knew it would. It was only a matter of time.

He let out a slow, shuddering breath, his eyes closing as sleep began to overtake him.

The darkness swallowed him whole, but even in the stillness of the night, the ache remained.

His father's face lingered in his mind, fading into the shadows.

And just like that, Xander drifted off into a restless, dreamless sleep, the letter still lying untouched on the desk.

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