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A long, long time ago, beyond seven mountains, beyond seven forests, beyond seven rivers, there lived a Count and a Wizard. They ruled indisputably over science and magic, their creations told of both far and near, for long years after they themselves were gone.
What the stories won't tell you is that the mighty rulers would not call one another 'Count' or 'Engineer', 'Wizard' or 'Headmistress'; but they would call one another 'brother', 'sister'.
The Wizard was stern, sensible, practical. When word reached her that magic had claimed her brother and granted him flight you would expect her to send a letter, not waste time on something likely harmless.
They say she didn't leave his chambers for seven days and nights, only emerging when she had exhausted every known and unknown spell and potion and charm and woven a hundred protections into his draconic wings.
The Count was impulsive, disorganized, creative. When his spies revealed that an ally from the west inadvertently cursed his sister with frost and snow you would expect him to make an empty threat or two, focus on curing it perhaps.
They say he sent no note, no warning, that the smoke billowed from the forge where he worked was darker than a storm at midnight. The trap never went off, but rumours say that the amount of tnt hidden within the embassy would've levelled half the empire.
They stood together, fought together, changed together; but above all they loved one another. When the forge exploded and the Count's empire fell and the Wizard's dragons grew restless they vanished. Though much history is lost we know—regardless of fact or proof—that they vanished together.