Evanoir

When love feels like magic… maybe it’s because it is.



Elior is a soft-spoken young mage from a secluded forest village where emotions literally shape spells. He’s sent to the city’s Grand Academy of Magic as part of a rare exchange program. But while he can conjure flowers from snow and light from silence, he struggles with one thing: connecting with people.

Enter Kael, a bright, sarcastic, and wildly popular top-ranking elemental mage who sees magic as nothing more than a weapon. When Elior’s shy spells misfire during training, Kael is assigned to tutor him.

What begins as an awkward mentorship slowly turns into something beautiful: Kael finds himself enchanted by the warmth of Elior’s presence, while Elior begins to unravel the guarded pain Kael hides beneath his confident grin. Together, they begin to discover that magic fueled by love is the most powerful kind of all.

But the kingdom is threatened by a mysterious “Emotion Plague” that turns feelings into curses—and only mages with bonded hearts can stop it.

Can two boys who’ve never truly belonged find a home in each other’s arms—and heal a kingdom with the magic of love?

Spellwoven

The moon hadn't moved in three hours.

He was good at noticing when the world decided to be wrong.

He stood on the balcony just before dawn, arms crossed, watching the unmoving sky.

Behind him, Elias slept. Or pretended to.

The curtains didn't stir. The stars didn't blink. Even the magic felt thick—like honey in his lungs.

And far below, the wards flickered again.

Kael muttered, "That's not right."

In the Hall of Mirrors, Headmistress Averen stood at the heart of a glowing rune circle, surrounded by ten of the oldest faculty.

"The protective wards are failing," said Professor Vale, voice tight. "We've traced the breach."

Fear, cloaked in academic language.

"He's not doing it on purpose," Averen said calmly. "But his presence is... catalytic. He carries bloodlines that were sealed for centuries. Elrion was only the beginning."

A junior scribe entered, pale and shaking.

"Ma'am. The ink... it's speaking."

The parchment he held shimmered darkly. A single phrase repeated over and over:

> "The flesh remembers. The heart forgets. The power waits."

Elias stood in the spell garden at dusk, hands dusted with ash.

He didn't hear Kael at first. Not until the prince-turned-bodyguard said softly:

His eyes shimmered—briefly gold, then black. Then just… tired.

"Don't lie," Kael said. Not cruel. Just real.

"You haven't eaten in two days. You don't sleep. I woke up last night and you were floating."

"No, it's not. You're afraid of something and it's not just the dark."

Elias's hands clenched. Sparks bloomed from his palms.

"Do you think I don't know what happens next?" he asked, voice cracking. "I'm a vessel, Kael. A walking key. And now they're knocking."

"You can't. Not with what's waking."

Kael stepped forward, lowering his voice.

In the bowels of the academy, beyond the sealed gates of the Old Crypts, something moved.

A figure opened its eyes—black mirrors reflecting moonless skies.

> "Then break him. Or break the one he won't let go."

He stood before a mirror of blood.

> "Then why does the power keep asking if you'll bleed for him?"

Behind the glass, Kael appeared—eyes wide, reaching.

The room was scorched. The bed had caught fire, half-quenched by glowing ice. The walls bled ink again.

And etched into the mirror across the room, by a hand neither of them controlled:

In the observatory, Headmistress Averen's wards shattered completely.

And far beneath the Academy, a sealed door—forgotten by most, feared by few—unlocked.

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Thread Beneath the Skin