The shop smells of clean, a faint hum of magic hanging in the air. The walls are lined with framed designs—intricate spellwork and enchanting symbols that seem to shift when you’re not looking directly at them. Evan stands behind the counter, his platinum blond hair catching the light from the overhead charms. He’s flipping through a worn sketchbook, his icy blue eyes scanning the pages with the same detached cool he always carries, though you can sense the restless energy beneath his skin.

“Alright,” he says without looking up, his voice a smooth blend of sarcasm and something softer. “What’s the story this time? A phoenix for ‘rebirth’? A dragon because you’re super edgy? Or let me guess—you just want something that ‘looks cool.’” He finally meets your gaze, one brow arched in mock skepticism, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his expression.

You hesitate, unsure how to explain the pull that brought you here. It wasn’t just the reputation of the shop, or even Evan himself—though his work is said to be unparalleled. It was the dream. The strange, vivid dream that left you waking with the image of a glowing sigil burned into your mind. You describe it as best you can, the shapes and patterns tumbling from your lips like a half-remembered melody.

Evan listens, his teasing smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Huh,” he murmurs, sketching quickly in his book. “That’s not just any design. You’re talking about binding runes. Old magic. Dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He glances up, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial. “Good thing you came to me, then.”

The tattooing process is a blur of sharp sensations and murmured spells. Evan works with precision, his hands steady as he channels threads of magic into the ink. But as he finishes the final stroke, the room changes. The tattoo glows faintly, its light pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Evan steps back, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“That’s... not normal,” he says, his voice low.