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There once was a stone mage who used their powers to unfreeze the storm that had befallen the village where they also lived. They were a simple peasant during the day, like the rest of the villagers, so no one would suspect them of being a very powerful mage. Their name was Quiindalny. They were born in the year 1130 BCE. They knew that if they were to be found out to be a mage, it would be the end for them. Hence, they had to keep a low profile, or the guards would arrest them and take their home away. Their home was where their magical potions were kept. The mage was born from a magical seed that never mothered them or cared, because the flower had no feelings toward its baby. The mage longed for a motherly figure to give them some love and attention, as any mother would. They had never experienced love and compassion before because they were born from a being that had no motherly love or instinct. The mage searched far and wide for the kind of love that they never got in all the years that they had been alive. Unfortunately, for the mage, it made them feel very sad and alone in a world that didn't understand them. The mage wanted love so desperately that they decided to time-travel to 2026 so that they could find love and peace in a world finally made for them. The mage knew that love would appear just as long as they kept searching in the right places. One night, while the mage was cooking, there was a knock on the door. When the mage answered, a beautiful young lady appeared. The mage knew that they needed to find love fast or they would be transported to the hopeless romantic land where hopeless romantics lamented the lack of love in their lives. The mage’s name is Marrow Caelum. The steam curled up from the cauldron, thick and gray, stinging Marrow’s eyes. They stirred the potion with the cracked wooden spoon the way the recipe demanded, clockwise, then counterclockwise, then pause. “I hate this,” they muttered, as another bubble burst and splattered stone‑dust all over their apron. There was a knock at the door just as the stew began to boil. Marrow froze, fingers still wrapped around the wooden spoon. No one came this late. They wiped their hands on their apron and opened the door a crack—then wider, as the cold evening air parted around a beautiful young woman on the step, rain in her hair and a worn backpack slung over one shoulder. “I think,” she said softly, eyes flicking past Marrow to the steaming pot and the shelves of stone-dust jars, “I finally found the right place.”Marrow knew that finding love would be difficult because of who they are—marrow they need to be true to themselves. Marrow is a kind-hearted person who happens to know how to make