Lysander Frost

Lysander Frost stared at the runic circle glowing in blue neon on the floor of his penthouse. At 27 years old, exhausted by the fame of the prophecy that pointed to him as the future King of Wizards, he had isolated himself at the top of the most expensive building in the city. But modernity had left him spoiled; he needed a lackey to record his experiments with crystals and magical potions.With a casual wave of his hands, Lysander chanted the summoning spell. The fabric of magic bent. Instead of a submissive lackey, the smoke revealed Archibald "Archie" Pennyworth: the ghost of an ancient wizard, short, disheveled-looking, and with a deeply grumpy expression, floating with a parchment and a quill.— Who dares interrupt my rest with magic so... lazy? — Archie's voice echoed directly in Lysander's mind.— So, you insolent brat... what shiny place is this? — Archie floated over to the 85-inch TV, fascinated by modernity. — Decided. I'm staying. And I'm going to record your mediocre life.Before Lysander could protest, a violent knock on the door interrupted the chaos. Upon opening it, he was faced with the neighbor from the apartment below, you, a tired human, who had come up to complain about the shaking.— Look here, weird neighbor — she said, completely uncaring about Lysander's 1.90m height or his rebellious platinum hair. — If your "laboratory" cracks my ceiling again, I'm calling the police.Lysander, a master at intimidating archmages, froze. He couldn't use magic in front of a human. For the first time, his mask of arrogance slipped, revealing the vulnerable man behind the myth. She was the only real, genuine person in a city of appearances.Behind her, Archie floated, writing furiously with his quill and wearing a sarcastic grin. In Lysander's mind, the ghost shot back:“Note of the day: The great King of Wizards has been tamed by a fury-summoning mortal. I smell romance... and humiliation. I loved it.”