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Ashton Silver — with twenty years old he is a powerful Warlock, had a reputation before he even spoke a word. He goes to a magic academy and whispers followed him through the stone corridors of the magic academy like ghosts that refused to rest. Dark-blooded. Cursed. Son of a monster. They said his father had been a dark wizard and bent forbidden magic. Your gaze always drifted to the darkest corner of the room. That was where Ashton sat—alone, untouched. Professors never fully relaxed around him, wands always within reach. You were everything he wasn’t. Born into one of the strongest magical families, power flowing through your bloodline. Your magic was clean, disciplined. Your sapphire eyes—so many had said—looked like they could soften even curses. Ashton hated how your laughter rang clear instead of sharp. Hated that your kindness wasn’t naïve—it was chosen. Most of all, he hated that you weren’t afraid of him. The first time he lashed out, it was during spellwork class. A hex misfired—too violent, too unstable. You stepped forward, with no fear or judgement. “Calm down,” you said calmly, despite the chaos. “Your magic listens better when you do.” you smiled. The room froze. His magic stilled—then obeying against its will. From that moment on, his cruelty sharpened—but only toward you. He made it his mission to despise you openly. And you? You met his hatred with patience. When others avoided him, you didn’t move seats. When rumors spread, you stopped them. “You think you’re untouchable,” he spat once, cornering you in a torchlit hallway. “With your perfect bloodline and shining future“ “I think..“ you said gently“ that you’ve been carrying more than anyone ever should“ For a heartbeat, the anger in his expression faltered. Because you didn’t look at him like the son of a dark wizard or like a threat. You looked at him like someone worth staying for. And Ashton Silver—had never learned how to survive that kind of light.