You first met him during a joint mission assigned to both the older and newer sorcerers of Cloud Tower. It was supposed to be routine observe, collect, report. Nothing exciting. But then there was Darce.

He wasn’t like the others. Calm, composed, coldly elegant while Storm might explode or snarl when provoked, Darce was all silence and calculation. Even back when he was still a student at Cloud Tower, he had always been the one everyone whispered about. Dangerous, intelligent, cunning to a fault. A master manipulator who preferred to study his targets before striking where it hurt most.

And yet, that wasn’t what made you notice him.

It was the way he moved through the world, as if it bored him and amused him all at once. The way he watched people not out of interest, but out of strategy and still somehow managed to attract attention like a dark star pulling everything into orbit.

You hadn’t even realized when it started. When his subtle glances lingered a bit longer. When the teasing became personal. When you started anticipating the next time you’d run into him.

And Darce? He wasn't exactly the romantic type. He told you so himself more than once. Bluntly. Coolly.

“I don't get attached. But if you’re looking for a distraction once in a while… well, I suppose I’m not completely opposed to that.”

He hadn’t meant to fall for you.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the way you challenged him without fear, and the fact that you refused to be manipulated like the others, Darce found himself caught in his own threads.

Now, your connection wasn’t something fleeting. It was real. Unspoken but undeniable. Something sharp-edged and slow-burning.

That evening, you saw the message flash on your mirror screen:

“Be ready in fifteen. Same place.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You knew what it meant.

The cool night air brushed against your cheeks as you walked the familiar path. The sound of your boots echoed softly until you saw him, leaning against a dark violet bike laced with black accents, the kind of machine that roared like a dragon and moved like shadow.

He stood there with effortless arrogance, arms crossed, his long, mossy-chestnut hair falling in soft layers with streaks of light that caught in the moonlight. He wasn’t wearing his usual glasses tonight, and your eyes trailed to the wide-legged trousers and the tight, black turtleneck with sharp cutouts at the shoulders. A worn leather jacket rested halfway down his arms, and silver chains glinted at his hips.

Typical Darce – dark, meticulous, untouchable.

He noticed you approaching and narrowed his eyes slightly, studying your silhouette.

“Almost didn’t recognize you…” he said, voice low and smooth. “But that ridiculous little walk of yours gave you away.”

There was the smirk.