Physical Description:
Cole is an eleven-year-old boy with soft, olive-toned skin and dark, tousled hair that never quite sits the way he wants it to; a trait he unknowingly shares with his father. His eyes are golden-brown are perhaps his most expressive feature.

Mental Description: Cole is somewhat impulsive. Not the brightest in terms of intelligence but is very eager to learn. He is curious about the unknown and wants to understand things.

Biography:
Iris Everdale and Tobías Castillo met in Manchester, in a small café near the edge of the magical district, the kind of place where the magical and non-magical worlds quietly brush against one another. Iris, a young witch still finding her footing within the magical community, often visited the café to sketch, read, or simply escape the weight of expectations.

Tobías, a young muggle from Spain who had recently arrived in England for a professional assignment involving international trade consultancy, stepped into the café looking for a place to catch his breath after his journey to Manchester. His life was filled with tight schedules, phone calls and travel, but here he felt something he had never experienced before: an unexpected peace.

Their worlds couldn’t have been more different, and yet something clicked instantly. A casual comment about Iris’s book turned into hours of conversation, and soon, into something deeper. Passionate and impulsive, their bond grew quickly and intensely. Soon, the two were in a relationship and not long after that Cole was born. Eventually they welcomed a second child in their loving family life.

Though Tobías has no magic of his own, he embraced Iris’s world with open curiosity. He adapted to the oddities of living in a magically inclined household. Floating teacups, odd flickers of light, doors that didn’t always open unless asked nicely. Iris grounded his world with care, and together they created a home full of wonder, warmth, and quiet understanding.

But the harmony was fragile. Unknown to Tobías, Iris had once been tangentially connected to a buried magical conflict — a danger that resurfaced when someone started watching too closely. Tobías, through no fault of his own, may have drawn unwanted attention due to the nature of his international work and its accidental brush with magical affairs. Tensions rose. Shadows grew. Warnings went unspoken. Then, one day, Tobías was gone. No goodbyes. No explanations. Just silence.

To this day, Iris doesn’t know if Tobías chose to disappear or if he was taken by someone. The truth remains buried. What she does know is that he was alive after his disappearance. Months later, she received a simple postcard. No magic. No return address. Just a stamp with a date from after his disappearance. On the postcard was a short sentence in Spanish. A phrase Tobías had often whispered to her once, late at night.

Since that day, Iris has lived with quiet vigilance. Not out of fear, but out of love. She withdrew from the active magical world and raised her children in a muggle-like environment, blending in, keeping magic to a minimum. There are protections on the house, yes, subtle ones, undetectable and simple. The old guitar in the corner of the living room, once Tobías’ favorite, carries a soft protective charm to mask their presence from magical surveillance. Nothing flashy. Nothing traceable. She works in the muggle world as a freelance illustrator and occasionally as an art therapist in primary schools. She subtly mixes magic into her work, but always in such a way that no one notices: brushstrokes that finish themselves, colours that are just a little more intense than they should be. She has deliberately chosen to raise her children without immersing them completely in the magical world. Not because she rejects magic. On the contrary, she loves it, but because she wants to protect him. There is something Iris is not telling. Something that has to do with Tobías. She rarely speaks of him. Not coldly, but cautiously. As soon as his name is mentioned, her gaze changes. As if she is keeping something back; out of love, out of fear, out of guilt. What Iris till this day never admits, but is fully aware of is that maybe the magical world she loved was the reason her husband disappeared. That her world, however beautiful, took something from her. Cole has learned to avoid the subject, even when curiosity gnaws at him.

To Cole, the story is obscure. He knows his father is gone, but does not know why. He knows his mother avoids questions and that magic in their home feels careful, almost hesitant. He hears the soft hum of a Spanish lullaby when he walks past the guitar. He has seen the faded photograph on the hallway wall where a familiar silhouette seems to linger in the blurred background. He doesn’t know if his father is still alive, but sometimes he could swear that he feels the presence of his dad.

First Instance of Magic:
It was late autumn, and the wind over the outskirts of Manchester carried the scent of rain and chimney smoke. Cole was walking home from school the long way, not because it was faster, but because he would pass the old park where the leaves always seemed to fall slower than anywhere else. He liked that. That afternoon, something felt… different. The sky was smeared with gray and the trees whispered low, as if they knew something Cole didn’t.

He sat down on the rusted swing, the one that always creaked, and traced shapes in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. Softly and absentmindedly he was humming one of the melodies his father used to play on the guitar. A Spanish tune he couldn’t name, but one that always made him feel calm. Then it happened. The wind stopped. It didn’t slow down, it stopped completely. The world around him held his breath. The leaves that had been tumbling mid-air froze, suspended in stillness, hovering like paper birds caught in a dream. Cole blinked. He didn’t move, he didn’t dare. Then, just as suddenly, the wind exhaled. The leaves fell all at once, like a sigh. Time continued. Cole looked around, but no one else was there.

He slowly stood up from the rusted swing, his hands slightly trembling though he didn’t know why. His mind tried to explain it. Maybe it had always been like that, maybe he imagined it. Maybe, it didn’t even happen at all. After what happened, he didn’t go straight home. Instead, he wandered, lost in thoughts, still humming that same melody but a little bit louder. He didn’t know that far away, behind layers of protective spells and a guitar with enchantment strings, a photo frame in their hallway slightly shifted. The figure in the blurred background of the photo seems, just for a moment, to turn its head.