Chapter Text
Ferdinand was not unfamiliar with illness.
It was a fact of life—one he had long since grown accustomed to. He could sense the small shifts in his body, identify the subtle signs of strain or exhaustion, and had learned to push through them without a second thought. Pain, fatigue—these were mere details, distractions to be ignored. He had lived with them long enough to know that they did not stop him from his duties.
But this... this was different.
The first time it happened, Ferdinand had been alone in his chambers in Alexandria, reviewing documents left by one of the new recruits—young scholars from the newly-founded duchy, eager to prove themselves. He had been halfway through a report on the efficiency of the magic tools being distributed to the artisans when the cough started, sharp and unexpected.
It was nothing at first, just a dry sensation in his throat, easily dismissed. But when the second cough came, something small fluttered from his lips. Ferdinand blinked, his gaze shifting to his hand, where a delicate petal—midnight blue and fragile—rested on his palm.
He stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending.
A petal?
His mind searched for a rational explanation. Perhaps some pollen from the garden, some residue from one of the magical herbs being cultivated nearby. There were many new elements in Alexandria’s magical environment, after all. Ferdinand frowned and brushed the petal aside, returning his attention to the report.
It did not happen again.
Not that day, at least.
"Lord Ferdinand, are you feeling unwell?"
Ferdinand glanced up from the table, his eyes settling on the young man across from him—Alden, one of the new Alexandrian scholars he had personally selected for their dedication to their craft. Alden’s eyes were sharp and observant, but there was an edge of concern in his voice that Ferdinand found somewhat disconcerting.
"I am perfectly fine," he replied smoothly, his tone measured. He reached for his goblet, taking a deliberate sip of water to clear the lingering dryness in his throat. There was no reason to worry anyone unnecessarily.
Alden did not press further, though his gaze lingered longer than was polite.
"Alexandria’s magical infrastructure continues to improve," Alden continued, returning to the matter at hand. "However, I’ve noted that the southern districts are requesting additional support. The tools provided have been insufficient to sustain their growth. Would you consider reallocating resources from—"
Thump.
Ferdinand’s breath caught, the sudden tightness in his chest making it harder to focus. He straightened in his chair, attempting to quell the odd sensation. But no sooner had he done so than another cough forced its way up from his throat.
This time, it was harder to suppress.
His hand rose instinctively, covering his mouth—and when he pulled it away, another petal rested there.
He stilled.
The petal was identical to the first—blue and shimmering faintly in the light, as though imbued with some kind of magic. His heart quickened, though outwardly, he remained as composed as ever. This was not a mere coincidence.
"Milord?"
Alden’s voice broke through the silence, and Ferdinand quickly concealed the petal, slipping it beneath the folds of his sleeve.
"My apologies. Continue," he said, his voice steady, though his mind was racing. There was no time to dwell on this now, no time to indulge in irrational thoughts. He would deal with it later. He had to.
Later that night, Ferdinand found himself pacing the library, his thoughts circling back to the strange incident with increasing unease. He had never encountered anything like this before, and no amount of logic could explain why he was coughing up petals.
He needed answers.
The Grutrissheit—the repository of the knowledge of the gods—sat on the pedestal before him, its pages glowing faintly with divine energy. If this was some form of magical illness, surely it would be recorded within the Grutrissheit’s vast archives. Ferdinand opened the book, his fingers moving deftly over the enchanted pages as he searched for any mention of such a curse, a condition that would cause one to manifest... flowers.
But page after page, nothing appeared. No curse, no disease, no mention of anything even remotely resembling what he was experiencing.
Ferdinand’s frown deepened as he continued to search, his movements growing more hurried with each passing minute. It made no sense. The Grutrissheit was supposed to contain all known knowledge—if this ailment was not recorded here, then what could it possibly be?
He closed the book with a sharp snap, the sound echoing in the empty library.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Frustration gnawed at him. He had always been able to rely on his knowledge, on his ability to dissect problems logically and find a solution. But this… this defied reason.
Ferdinand placed a hand over his chest, feeling the persistent weight there, as though something was lodged beneath his ribs. Something that was growing, spreading with every beat of his heart.
Why now? Why this?
His mind drifted unbidden to Rozemyne, to her words, to a conversation they had shared long ago—back when she had still been his apprentice, still learning about the world of nobles and its intricacies. She had spoken of strange tales from her past life, of sicknesses born from unspoken feelings, from love that was never acknowledged.
"Hanahaki Disease," she had called it.
It had been a strange story, one Ferdinand had dismissed as nothing more than another one of Rozemyne’s eccentricities. But now… now the memory returned with startling clarity.
No.
It couldn’t be. Such things were mere fantasy, tales from another world that had no place here in Yurgenschmidt. And yet...
The petals.
The weight in his chest.
It all aligned with the stories she had told him.
Ferdinand’s hand tightened into a fist. There had to be another explanation. There had to be. He was not some love-struck fool, plagued by emotions he had long since buried. He was a feystone, a tool. He did not have the luxury of indulging in such feelings, not now, not ever.
But despite his best efforts to deny it, the truth began to sink in.
He was in love with Rozemyne.
Deeply.
Irrevocably.
And no amount of logic could change that.
Still, the idea that his feelings could manifest so strongly, so powerfully, that they could manifest even the embodiment of gods themselves... it was absurd. Unthinkable.
And yet, the evidence was there, undeniable, blooming from his very being.
Ferdinand pressed a hand to his chest, the weight heavier than ever.
If this was truly Hanahaki Disease—if this was some otherworldly curse that even the Grutrissheit could not explain—then he was dealing with something far beyond the understanding of this world. Something that had never been seen before.
Bluanfah’s Curse, he thought to himself, naming the affliction after the goddess of sprouts and romance, the one who governed the deepest emotions and feelings. It was a fitting name, for surely no one had ever experienced such depths of feeling as he did now.
The gods themselves had never witnessed a love like this.
And perhaps, they never would again.
Ferdinand swallowed hard, feeling another cough rising in his throat, another petal waiting to emerge.
If this was the price of his love, then so be it.
But he would not allow Rozemyne to see him like this.