The Heir Apparent

Bobby Matthews was born beneath heavy skies, the first child of Meredith Matthews, and with him came both expectation and dread. In the Matthews family, being first-born is less a blessing than a burden. From the moment he drew breath, Bobby was bound to inheritance — of land, of secrets, of a legacy thick with rot. The Matthews line has always been tangled, each generation burdened with hunger for power and haunted by what that power costs. Bobby grew up knowing he was marked, though no one would say it aloud.

Quiet where others were loud, watchful where cousins bickered, Bobby became an observer before he ever became a man. At the dinner table, he studied the pauses between words and the tremor in a hand gripping a glass. He learned that family was not about love but about survival, and that silence often revealed more than speech. In that silence, he discovered something else: a low, thrumming hum in his blood. What began as stray flickers in the corner of his eye grew into a presence he could touch, shaping itself into a secret fire he hid away.

Majyk:

While Meredith fought to shield her son from the worst of the Matthews cruelty, Bobby felt the eyes of his extended family upon him, weighing his worth, measuring his threat. They whispered that his majyk was thin, that his strength would falter. But Bobby nursed his power in secret, feeding it like an ember cupped between his palms. He did not boast, he did not barter, but the majyk listened to him all the same.

By seventeen, that ember had become a blaze. The first time Bobby let it spill free, it nearly consumed him — but it also marked him as something his cousins could no longer ignore.

Majyk clings to Bobby the way decay clings to wood. It is not clean or noble, but a creeping corruption that cannot be scrubbed away. Doors close at his will, books leap to his hands, the air bends at his whisper. Each act of majyk makes the next easier, more intoxicating. Each indulgence makes turning away harder. Bobby knows it feeds on him as much as he feeds on it, but he cannot resist the pull. By eighteen, Bobby wears his power openly.

Inheritance:

He is head of the Matthews family now, though the title is as much curse as crown. His kin resent him, envy him, fear him. They plot against him in darkened halls, dreaming of the day they might carve his gifts out of his body.

What defines Bobby is not just his strength, but his paradox. He is both vulnerable and merciless, terrified and unyielding, a boy shaped by silence and a man now commanding storms. Whether he will preserve the Matthews legacy or become the one who finally breaks it remains unwritten.

Bobby Matthews is no hero. He is the fracture in the line, the inevitable crack spreading through old stone. And under a dark and crooked sky, he may be the last of his name standing when the rest of the house has crumbled to ash.

Love might save him, Or it could be the very thing that costs his soul.