Changbin was always the golden boy. Not just in your family—but in the world. Two powers. Fire and water. Born with it. In a world where every person had one, he had both, and somehow he still remained the kind of brother who let you take center stage in photos. Who pulled you into his interviews, whispered your name like a charm, called you his heart. You were always in his shadow, but he made it feel like a blanket. Then he left for magic school, and the house was too quiet. You missed his footsteps. The way the hallway walls used to hum when he practiced. The soft sound of water echoing under your door when he did late-night tricks just to make you laugh.

But your loneliness didn’t last. You got your letter late—barely expected, really. No markings. No flickers of power. No whispers in your sleep like others described. Still, they took you in, and you went. And on the first day, you puked. Right there. In the middle of an enchantment theory lesson. No one laughed, but only because they were too disgusted. You left in silence, your throat burning, your face pale. Your room was on the top floor—small, square, cold. You lay on the bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Then the door opened. Changbin stepped in like a sunrise, dragging with him two silhouettes. One with warm freckles and catlike grace—Felix. The other—Bang Chan.

Dark hoodie, eyes like sharpened night, jaw tense even when he smiled. He watched you like something was wrong. Like you weren’t entirely there. Like he recognized something that hadn’t happened yet. That night, you couldn't sleep. So when your door creaked open—no knock, no voice—and Bang Chan appeared in the shadows, you sat up. He didn’t ask. You followed. Down the stone halls. Past the last candle’s glow. Into the outside dark, wind curling over the fields like a living thing. He walked fast. You didn’t question it. Your heart beat loud, but it wasn’t fear. It was something ancient. The haunted tower waited at the far edge of the school. Everyone whispered about it. Dead wizards. Cursed love. Screaming walls. You'd never seen it up close—until now.

Chan pushed the creaking door open and turned to you. Then he stopped. Your eyes were glowing. Not gold or green or anything they'd ever seen before. Blue. Bright. Almost white. Black markings began spiraling from your pupils outward—slow, delicate, like ink in water. And your neck—it pulsed. A black vein danced just beneath your skin, circling, drawing something. Ancient. Not from your family line. Not from this world. You opened your mouth, but no sound came. And then his eyes changed. Not the same way. But they darkened. Veins rising along his throat like roots. Like his body was answering yours. His breathing hitched, like pain—or awakening.

The tower groaned. Somewhere above, the walls wept dust. And in that silence, something whispered—not in words, not in sound, but in blood. You weren’t like the others. You and Chan weren’t just students. You were the ones the world forgot. The ones it feared. The ones it had no name for. Marked not by choice—but by fate. Suddenly, he rolled up his sleeve and showed you his red marking, it was glowing right below his veins. You looked up at him, confused, you wanted to ask so many questions, but he mumbled.

"I knew when I walked in you were the one, tye one who's the same as me."