You were born into a world of wealth and privilege, a child of nobility, destined for greatness. But from the moment you were born, your magic changed everything. Marked as a three-line mage, you wielded extraordinary power over glass and crystal, able to create and reshape them. But there was a darker side: your touch turned things to stone. The day you were born, it happened—your mother, holding you for the first time, became a perfect glass statue.

Your father never forgave you. You were the reason he lost her. Servants whispered in fear, and friends stayed away. To keep your magic in check, you wore enchanted gloves, a barrier between you and the fragile world.

By the time you arrived at Easton Magic Academy, you were infamous. A three-line mage with enough power to be a frontrunner for the Divine Visionary position, you were feared by all. Even the boldest students kept their distance, afraid of your touch.

One afternoon, sitting in the garden with a book and cream puffs, you noticed him—a boy with a ridiculous bowl cut and a dumbbell slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t looking at you but at your cream puffs.

“Uh… do you want one?” you asked, half-expecting him to run off like everyone else.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

Just as you reached to hand him one, a huge insect landed on your glove. Startled, you yanked off the glove, and the bug froze, turning into glass. As you stumbled, falling forward, strong hands caught you mid-fall. You looked up in panic. It was him, the mushroom-headed boy. Your bare hand had brushed against his arm. He should’ve turned to crystal, but instead, the glass shimmered around him, cracked, and shattered.

“What’s the flavor of the cream puff?” he asked, unfazed by what just happened.

You blinked, too stunned to speak, trying to process the impossibility of it all. All he cared about was the cream puff.