The Price of a Mistake
Millbrook Village, 2 days after the tragedy
Heart-wrenching sobs echoed from the small house at the edge of the village. Sarah Hartwell clutched her daughter's tattered bunny doll tightly, her face wet with tears that hadn't stopped flowing since the terrible news reached her ears.
"Emma... my little Emma..." she whispered hoarsely. "Mommy's waiting for you to come home, darling. Mommy's made your favorite soup."
Thomas Hartwell, her husband, stood in the doorway, his body trembling. The 40-something man, usually the strong village blacksmith, now looked like a shadow of his former self. His red eyes stared blankly into their little daughter's room, which would never be filled again.
"She was only nine," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Nine years old, and she died because... because that damned boy played with magic he couldn't control."
Emma Hartwell. A cheerful little girl with curly blonde hair and a laugh that always filled their small home. The child who every night asked for a bedtime story. The child who dreamed of one day becoming a healer to help the sick people in her village.
Now she would never come home again.
"I want to see that boy," Thomas said, his voice trembling with deep anger. "That boy named Carsel Nightshade. I want him to look into my eyes and know what he's done."
Sarah raised her head, her eyes glinting with a mix of sorrow and hatred. "He doesn't deserve to see our faces. He doesn't deserve to speak Emma's name."
"But he has to pay!" Thomas roared, his fist hitting the wooden wall until it bled. "Our daughter died because of that boy's arrogance and carelessness! He has to pay!"
In the corner of the room, Emma's grandfather—70-year-old William Hartwell—sat silently, carving a small wooden doll. His old, wrinkled hands trembled as he smoothed the details of the doll's face, which resembled his granddaughter.
"I've been carving dolls for Emma since she was three," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. "Every birthday, a new doll. I'd already started carving one for her tenth birthday next month."
He held up the half-finished doll, tears dripping onto the unfinished wood. "Now... what's the point of me continuing?"
A knock at the door broke the mournful silence. Thomas opened the door to find a group of neighbors with grim faces.
"Tom," one of them said—the village baker. "We heard the news from the academy. We... we're so sorry for your loss."
"Grief won't bring Emma back," Thomas replied bitterly. "What we need is justice."
"We agree," another chimed in. "The whole village agrees. That boy named Carsel must be punished for what he's done."
"We've already sent a petition to the academy," added the third neighbor. "Demanding that the boy be expelled and handed over to the victim's family for... accountability."
Thomas nodded firmly. "Emma was a good child. She never hurt anyone. She didn't deserve to die like this."
"And she won't die in vain," his neighbor promised. "We'll make sure justice is served."
BRIGHTWATER FAMILY MANSION - GOLDENHAVEN CITY
The luxurious Brightwater family mansion, usually filled with laughter and warmth, now felt like a silent tomb. Lord Marcus Brightwater, a wealthy merchant guild leader, sat in his study, staring blankly at his son's portrait hanging on the wall.
Alexander Brightwater. A ten-year-old boy with bright blue eyes and a perpetually cheerful smile. A smart and talented child, sent to the academy with great hopes of becoming a renowned mage one day.
"Papa," his wife, Lady Catherine,'s weak voice sounded from the doorway. The 35-year-old woman looked like a ghost—pale skin, hollow eyes, and moving like a living corpse.
"Catherine," Marcus rose quickly and embraced his wife, who was about to collapse. "You shouldn't be up. The doctor said you need rest."
"How can I rest?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Alexander... our son... he suffered when he died, Marcus. He was terrified and in pain, and I wasn't there to protect him."
Marcus felt his chest tighten. He had already heard the detailed report of the incident at the academy. How Alex and two other children were trapped in a collapsing room due to uncontrolled dark magic.
"That boy named Carsel Nightshade," Catherine whispered, her voice turning cold and sharp. "He's the one who killed our son."
"I know, darling. I know."
"I want him to suffer like Alex suffered. I want him to feel the same pain and fear."
Marcus had never seen his gentle and loving wife change like this. Grief had transformed the woman he loved into someone consumed by a thirst for revenge.
"I've already contacted my political connections," Marcus said. "My guild network, noble friends, even some royal officials. They will all put pressure on the academy."
"That's not enough," Catherine countered, her eyes gleaming dangerously. "I want that boy expelled from the academy. I want him exiled and never able to touch magic again. I want him to live in misery for the rest of his life."
"Catherine—"
"DON'T!" she shrieked hysterically. "Don't try to calm me down! Our son is DEAD, Marcus! He'll never graduate from the academy! He'll never marry! He'll never give us grandchildren! Everything is lost because of one child's idiocy!"
She fell to her knees, sobbing, her body shaking violently. "I'd already prepared his room for the holidays. I'd already bought his birthday present. I'd... I'd planned our future with him."
Marcus knelt beside his wife, holding her tightly while holding back his own tears. "I promise, Catherine. I promise Alex will get justice. Carsel Nightshade will pay for what he's done."
On his study table, letters from various guilds and noble families had already begun to arrive. All offered political and financial support to demand "justice" for Alexander Brightwater.
Great economic and political power began to move, all aimed at destroying a nine-year-old boy named Carsel Nightshade.
THORNFIELD FAMILY HOME - ROSEMOOR VILLAGE
The Thornfield family home felt too quiet without Lily's usual boisterous noise and laughter. These simple farmers never imagined they would lose their only daughter in such a tragic way.
James Thornfield sat in a rocking chair on his porch, hugging a small blanket that still smelled like his daughter. His tired eyes stared at the flower garden Lily used to tend with love.
"Papa, look! Our sunflowers are so tall!" Lily's cheerful voice still echoed in his ears. A nine-year-old girl with long brown hair and hazel eyes that always sparkled.
"Lily always said she wanted to be a healer to care for sick flowers," whispered Martha, his wife, as she sat beside him. The 38-year-old woman hugged the tattered cloth doll Lily always carried everywhere.
"She was a good child," James said hoarsely. "Too good for this cruel world."
"Why her, James?" Martha asked, tears flowing. "Why did our child have to be the victim of someone else's foolishness?"
James clenched his fists. He wasn't a violent man, but the burning anger in his chest made him want to do things he never imagined.
"Carsel Nightshade," he muttered with deep hatred. "I'll remember that name forever."
"I heard he's an orphan," Martha said bitterly. "Maybe God punished his parents for knowing they'd give birth to a monster like that."
"Martha—"
"No, James! I won't forgive him! He killed our daughter! Innocent, kind Lily, who never hurt anyone, died because of that boy's arrogance!"
They sat in mournful silence, each submerged in their grief and anger. In the garden, the flowers Lily used to care for began to wilt because no one was tending them.
"I've spoken with the village elder," James said finally. "He'll join other villages in demanding justice from the academy."
"Justice?" Martha laughed bitterly. "What justice can bring Lily back to us?"
"Nothing can bring her back," James replied, his voice trembling. "But at least we can ensure that boy will never hurt another child again."
That night, they sat in Lily's room, still untouched as she had left it. The small bed with neatly arranged dolls. The study desk with books that would never be read again. The wardrobe with small clothes that would never be worn again.
"Good night, darling," Martha whispered, kissing Lily's photo on the bedside table. "Mama and Papa will make sure the person who hurt you gets the punishment they deserve."
GRAND MAGIC ACADEMY - HEADMASTER'S OFFICE
Headmaster Aldeon sat behind his desk with a pile of letters that grew by the hour. Letters from the victims' families, from merchant guilds, from noble families, from village councils—all demanding the same thing: justice for Carsel Nightshade.
"The situation is getting worse, Headmaster," Professor Marlena said, placing a new batch of letters down. "Political pressure is intensifying. Even some kingdom officials are starting to question the academy's decision not to expel Nightshade."
"The child made a fatal mistake," the Headmaster replied wearily. "But he didn't mean to kill. He was trying to save them."
"Intent doesn't matter when the result is three dead children," Professor Marlena said sharply. "Their families are demanding blood, and honestly, I can't blame them."
The Headmaster looked out the window, towards the Onyx Dormitory where Carsel was likely facing his own nightmares.
"What should we do?" he asked, more to himself than to Professor Marlena.
"There are two options," the professor answered bluntly. "Expel Nightshade and hand him over to the authorities to face punishment, or face political consequences that could destroy the academy's reputation."
"And a third option?"
"There is no third option, Headmaster. Public opinion is already too strong. The victim families have the support of the merchants' guild, noble networks, and even some kingdom officials. We cannot fight such pressure."
The Headmaster let out a long sigh. He knew that whatever decision he made would change a nine-year-old child's life forever.
"Give me until the end of the week," he finally said. "I need... I need to think."
"Headmaster, delay will only worsen the situation—"
"GIVE ME TIME!" he roared with long-suppressed frustration.
Professor Marlena fell silent, startled by the outburst from her usually calm superior.
"I'm sorry," the Headmaster said wearily. "I just... this isn't an easy decision."
"I know," Professor Marlena replied more gently. "But remember, Headmaster—we also have a responsibility to the thousands of other students in this academy. We cannot allow one troubled child to destroy an institution we have built for centuries."
After Professor Marlena left, the Headmaster sat alone with the weight of an impossible decision. On one hand, a child who had already suffered enough and needed guidance, not punishment. On the other hand, three shattered families and demands for justice that could not be ignored.
What would be the right choice? he thought in the deepening gloom.
And whatever I choose, will I be able to live with the consequences?
Meanwhile, in Onyx Dormitory, Carsel lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He didn't know about the political storm brewing. He didn't know that three families were demanding his blood. He didn't know that powerful forces had already begun to move to destroy his life.
All he knew was the guilt that consumed his soul every second, and the sound of the children who died because of his mistake, constantly echoing in his nightmares.
Maybe it would be better if I just disappear, he thought with deepening despair.
Maybe everyone would be happier if I was never born.
Such dark thoughts continued to haunt him, unaware that the real storm had only just begun, and his life was about to change in ways he could never have imagined.