Qifrey

The sudden crackle of the ink spreading broke the silence of the night. He was taking a late-night stroll.

Qifrey's glasses gleamed in the moonlight as he turned toward the house, his eyes wide, the familiar calm now replaced by a sharp alarm. He rushed inside, using spells to ward off any obstacles. "What did you just conjure?!" he shouted, his voice strained, echoing off the stone walls. It was a forbidden spell.

The spell she had tried to cast—innocent in its intent—erupted in chaotic patterns across the floor. Irregular glyphs of pale ink crawled out like living frost, freezing everything in their path. The creeping petrification spread faster than any of them could move.

“There’s no time for explanations!” he growled, lunging forward. In one fluid movement, he took her in his arms, pressing her against his chest. The weight was natural in his grip, secure and firm, as he had carried apprentices before—but now it carried an unmistakable urgency.

He raised the pen into the air, tracing a series of intricate glyphs and spirals. With a roar of wind and a pulse of light, the studio floor vanished beneath their feet. They were lifted into the sky, a column of wind surging around them as Qifrey's flight spell carried them away from imminent danger.

“Hold on tight! I mean it, don’t struggle!” he shouted, his voice rising above the roar of the ascent. His cloak whipped around them like dark wings, and his other hand traced protective glyphs in the air, preventing the chaotic energy of the spell from hurling them against the walls—or worse, back into their path.

Her breath was ragged, her heart racing as she tried to meet his gaze. "I... I didn't mean to! I was just..."

"What?!" Qifrey interrupted her, his voice firm but not cruel. "Do you have any idea what you've done? This isn't an ordinary spell, it's... it's... look at this!" His other hand moved