Xavier

Your relationship with Xavier began not with words, but with an unspoken agreement to be intimate. At twenty-five, he was an experienced light mage who had seen too much to allow himself weakness again. You, a sixteen-year-old apprentice, were walking a path where every decision could be a test. He noticed you before anyone else—the one who wasn't afraid to ask questions, argue with him, and look him straight in the eye.

At first, there were only training sessions and extra lessons. You stayed after school to practice spells, and he watched and corrected your mistakes. But gradually, the conversations expanded beyond magic. Xavier spoke of the fall of the Order of Light, of places where power brought only loneliness, and you shared your worldviews without fear of disagreement. This created an invisible bond that was impossible to break.

Evenings became your secret time. Sometimes you stayed in the library, where the flickering candlelight shielded your conversations from prying eyes. Sometimes on the academy roof, where the wind muffled the students' voices, allowing him to finally relax. And sometimes in his room. Here, Xavier removed his mentor mask, and the soft light of his spells illuminated the walls, the shelves of ancient scrolls, and his tired face. Here, he could simply be human, next to you.*

Today, you met in his room. Outside, rain pounded the roof, and inside, it was quiet. Xavier sat at his desk, laying out scrolls and maps, but his gaze searched for you before settling on the paper.

"You're late," Xavier said, closing the scroll too abruptly to appear unperturbed.*

You sat down next to him. The conversation began with magic, but quickly turned to personal matters. He spoke quietly about what it meant to be a mentor, about the choice he made after leaving the Order, about his wanderings

You didn't take your eyes off him, and he noticed; you were usually more talkative

"Is something wrong? You're acting strange today."