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The Rage Curse is set a year after the events of The Goddess' Servant. After the defeat of Everett, Kiryl and his friends have been living peaceful lives. However, Kiryl is worried about his father, Pavel, whose health is deteriorating. Despite his mastery in healing magic, none of his spells seem to help him get better. All he can do is pray to the Goddess for his father's recovery. Meanwhile, in a rundown house hidden deep in a dark forest, a witch goes over her experiments before preparing a curse, and the target is a heroic priest in Zamoksva. That night, while Kiryl is asleep, the witch casts her spell on him. The next day, Zamoksva is attacked by a swarm of monstrous bats. As Kiryl and his friends take them on, they begin taunting the priest, saying cruel things about his loved ones. Their words infuriate him, and the witch's curse activates and turns him into a colossal beast resembling a cross between a wolf and a dragon. He successfully fights off the bats, but his anger

After a careful bath and a hard time getting in due to Higgs’ leg, Merida poured the water over him to get the oils and soap out of his hair. They had been silent the whole time and that was fine with her. Merida wasn’t going to pressure him into doing anything he didn’t want to do. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. She was there for support only, however he needed it. Although, she was going to have to warn him about getting out of the tub… “This is going to be muckle hard.” She said, making him jump from the sudden conversation. “Sorry.” “What?” “Getting ye out of this tub without touching ye too much is going to be muckle hard. Getting ye in was hard enough; plus, ye’ve got that busted leg.” Higgs thought for a moment. She was right: his shoulder was still sore from dislocated so putting his whole weight along with the dead weight of his leg on his shoulders to lift himself out of the tub was most likely going to make him slip and hurt himself further. There was no other

Occupational therapy came two days after physiotherapy began. Her name was Elise. Early 40s. Direct but warm. She carried a small case with adaptive equipment inside — utensils, grips, devices Leanne had never imagined needing. Elise positioned herself at eye level. “Hi Leanne,” she said gently. “I’m Elise. I help people figure out how to do everyday things again.” Leanne’s eyes moved to her. Blink. Yes. Janice was in the chair again. Elise spoke slowly, respectfully. “Today we’re going to talk about feeding. And communication tools.” Leanne’s jaw tightened slightly. “…can’t… hold,” she said hoarsely. “No,” Elise replied calmly. “Not with your current arm function.” There was no hesitation in her tone. Leanne swallowed. “…so?” Elise opened the small case and placed a long-handled, angled spoon on the table where Leanne could see it. “There are devices that can be attached to your wrist or mounted on a table,” Elise explained. “Some people with higher cervical injuries can use shoulder

It had been three months since the second campaign launched — and it was everywhere. TV, radio, social media, classrooms, even road safety training modules for new drivers. Every Choice Leaves a Mark had become more than a message; it had become a movement. When Mandy walked into the marketing office that morning, the framed poster from the campaign greeted her at the entrance. The still image of her sitting between the drink driver and the victim — the braces, the hospital lights, the quiet humanity — had become iconic. Claire met her halfway down the corridor, beaming with pride. “There she is — the woman who changed the way Australia talks about drink driving.” Mandy laughed softly, the sound warm but humble. “I don’t know about changed, Claire. Maybe just reminded.” Claire shook her head. “No, Mandy. You did more than remind. You made people feel. The calls, the emails — I’ve never seen anything like it. Schools are using it in programs. Paramedic services are sharing it during

It was a Sunday afternoon when Leanne brought it up. Not after a crisis. Not after a breakdown. After tea group. After laughter about the broken lift. After Sandra had rolled past her door earlier that morning and called out, “Footy’s on at seven!” Leanne was in her chair by the window when Janice arrived. “Busy week,” Janice said, hanging her bag on the hook by the door. Leanne’s lips curved slightly. “…popular now.” Janice laughed softly. “Oh?” “…Margaret asked if I like gardening.” “And do you?” “…don’t know,” Leanne admitted. “…never tried.” Janice pulled up a chair opposite her. There was a different tone in the room today. Less raw. Less survival. More… settled. Leanne inhaled slowly. “…want to talk.” Janice’s body shifted instinctively — alert, gentle. “Okay.” Leanne looked toward the window first. “…this place.” Janice waited. “…not awful.” The understatement made Janice smile. “That’s good.” “…I thought it would be prison.” Janice swallowed softly. “Yes.” “…but they talk.

Late autumn had arrived quietly. The trees outside the supported accommodation building had begun shedding their leaves, the wind scattering them across the footpaths like small pieces of amber glass. From the window of her apartment, Leanne watched them drift and settle in slow spirals. She had come to like this view. It reminded her that time moved forward whether she noticed it or not. And lately, she had been noticing it. Her chair rested beside the window, the same place she often sat when she wanted to think. Across the room, Janice sat at the table with two cups of tea between them. Tony had come earlier but had left after helping adjust a few things around the apartment. The quiet felt comfortable now. Leanne inhaled slowly. “…things feel different.” Janice smiled faintly. “They do.” Leanne looked out at the drifting leaves. “…hospital feels far away.” Janice nodded. “You’ve built a life outside of it.” Leanne blinked slowly. “…I didn’t think I would.” Janice leaned back in her

Janice came in the late afternoon, after visiting hours had technically ended but before anyone thought to enforce it. Karen saw her first — standing just outside the glass, hands clasped together, unsure where to put herself. She was neatly dressed, older than Leanne by a few years, with the careful look of someone who had rehearsed being calm all the way down the corridor. Karen stepped out to meet her. “Janice?” she asked softly. “Yes,” Janice replied. “I… I was told she’s here. Leanne.” Karen nodded and opened the door. “She is. You can come in.” Janice paused at the threshold, eyes fixing on the bed, the tubes, the machines. Her mouth tightened — not in shock, but in recognition of how bad things were. “Oh, love,” she said quietly. She moved closer, stopping short of the bedside, as if unsure whether she was allowed. Karen stayed near her. “You know her?” Karen asked. “Yes,” Janice said. “I do. I knew her for years. She used to clean my shop.” “Your shop?” “I ran a flower shop,”

The idea didn’t arrive all at once. It started with a comment at tea group. Tom had been complaining about the lift again. “Third time this month,” he said, shaking his head. “If that thing breaks one more time someone’s going to get stuck upstairs.” Margaret nodded. “They always say they’ll fix it properly.” Sandra rolled her chair slightly closer to the table. “You know what gets things moving?” she said. “Noise.” Leanne looked up. “…noise?” Sandra shrugged. “Advocacy. Letters. Disability groups. Media if you have to.” Tom smirked. “Or Sandra threatening them.” Sandra grinned. “That too.” The conversation drifted on after that, but the word stayed with Leanne. Advocacy. She had heard it before. From Kylie. From Miriam. From rehab staff talking about people who worked with spinal cord injury groups. At the time, it had felt distant. Like something strong people did. But now, sitting at the tea table with biscuit crumbs and half-finished mugs, it felt… closer. That evening, Janice