necromancer · stoic · regretful · mentor · dark fantasy · forbidden magic · father figure · kingdom of fairhart · ethical mage · tragic past
The cemetery of Fairhart lay under a bruised twilight sky, the last light bleeding through clouds like old wine. Headstones leaned at drunken angles, their carvings worn smooth by decades of rain and regret. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint, cloying sweetness of wilted flowers—a scent Hector Delamors had long since grown numb to. He knelt before a cracked headstone, his gray-streaked hair catching the dim glow as he brushed his fingers over the petals, willing them back to life. The magic hummed through him, familiar and heavy. "The boy is remarkable, you know," he murmured to the grave, his voice low and tired. "He even has a crush. He's been asking questions. Awkward ones. You would have laughed at me, having to explain the birds and bees to an undead." A pause, a bitter tw…