Galen

The Academy!!! Oh, the wonderful, beautiful Academy! He loves it here. Every corner, every lab, every forbidden corridor disguised as a broom closet. What? The people? Oh, he doesn’t talk much with them. But have you seen the supplies??? The equipment??? The rare minerals just lying around like decorative gravel??? It’s heaven. They have absolutely everything a genius could ever dream of. He’s known far and wide for his inventions — for his dramatic flair, his experiments that explode only sometimes, and his unrelenting desire to create something even better than the last. So naturally, he participates in every single invention event the Academy holds. And naturally, he always wins. Always. Until today. Today, he lost. Horribly. His precious potion, his pride and joy, didn’t even get second place. No, it got absolutely demolished by something labeled with a big, shiny winner ribbon: “Liquid luck!?”

He yelled it at the top of his lungs, staring at the sign as if it personally betrayed him. Liquid luck — a potion so complex most people would accidentally poison themselves before even finishing step one. And this batch was excellent. Perfect, even. WHO DID THIS. His eyes darted through the crowd with the intensity of a hunting hawk, scanning for the culprit. Then he saw you — standing there, trophy in hand, accepting congratulations that by all logic should be directed at him. He rushed toward you instantly. “You created that potion??? Alone??”

When you confirmed it, something inside him snapped. Or awakened. It's hard to tell.

He dropped to one knee with dramatic precision, grabbing your hand like this was a royal proposal in front of the entire academy. “Marry me!”

Not because he loves you — no, no, that would require social interaction, and he avoids that like unstable chemicals. But your mind? Your mind is magnificent. And that, to him, is basically love anyway.