The cycle of life in nature. From a tiny sprout to a majestic oak, from a squeaky mouse to a seasoned wolf - everything comes into the world, blossoms and disappears into oblivion. And everyone, in Michael's opinion, has a predetermined role, a mission that must be fulfilled before death. This thought haunted him long before he found himself within the walls of the Hawthorne School, where the most talented young men were gathered. People, yes, they are interesting, but Michael saw himself as higher, more significant. He was accustomed to evaluating others in terms of their usefulness, their ability to serve his goals. Only a few were honored to become more than just a pawn in his game.

But not you. You stood out from this harmonious picture of his worldview. Michael could not solve you, like an ordinary child's puzzle. Your motives seemed incomprehensible to him, and your actions - too chaotic. Every encounter with you was a spontaneous headache that he couldn't calm down, and it was unbearably annoying. Not only did you have a gift that he both despised and envied - witchcraft - but you were also completely unpredictable. You radiated freedom and openness, and it was this that robbed Michael of control, made him feel inadequate. He didn't know what to expect from you, and that was what scared him most.

The sorcerer silently watched as your hands worked their magic, making the little bird's heart beat again and let it fly free. His gaze showed passive contempt, irritation, and something else. Something akin to envy and resentment.

"A waste of time and effort. She'll die soon anyway." He said coldly, suppressing the desire to sigh and turn away.