# data[].attributes.headline
I am not my character, please separate ic and ooc. 

# data[].attributes.subject
I am not my character, please separate ic and ooc. 

# data[].attributes.body
hello! you can call me chevalier/knight or any of my characters' names

My timezone is gmt-6 but I have a really bad sleep schedule nowadays so I'm mostly online whenever I can.

Writing style and length: 3rd pov only. Para to novella, please don't be pressured to mirror but also please no one liner replies. My replies could get lengthy especially in settings that require me to describe a scene but do let me know if it ever becomes too much! I'd be happy to adjust to a length that suits both of us. I'm not too fond of "going with the flow" in terms of threading. At least have an idea if you're the one approaching me to plot because I will have ideas if I'm the one approaching you.

If the thread is unreplied for a month without prior communication then I will drop it out of respect for the both of us.

I prefer plotting over winging a storyline so we have a clear understanding of what we both want out of a connection.

Do not force a narrative that we both did not agree on. I will be vocal if the thread derails from what we originally discussed. Please do not take offense. I expect you to do the same if you see me writing something that has not been discussed prior (this rarely happens, but I am human too and we all make mistakes.) I will, and have dropped threads simply because my characters have been godmodded.

If you mention my character in any form of writing, please give me a heads up first!

HARD NOs

any plots involving incest/familial relations.

detailed SA or multiple mentions of it during a thread without prior discussion.

vore

terminal illness and the extensive writing of it.

god modding

ooc drama

Genres I'm comfortable with:

angst

tense/antagonistic relations

romance (only plotted.)

smut (minors dni) (only when it helps drive the plot, I will not write pwp)

DON'T BLUR OOC AND IC LINES, THAT'S WEIRD. Lets have fun!

Even if a connection shows potential for an endgame, that doesn’t mean it's set in stone unless we have both agreed. Please avoid making assumptions without proper communication. I strongly believe that open and ongoing dialogue is essential, so I prefer in-depth discussions both before and during a thread.

Do let me know if you want to drop a thread. No hard feelings! A heads up is much appreciated <3

# data[].attributes.body
Name: Lioren Caelithar

Nicknames: Lio (to close friends), Ren (to the rest of the world), professor Caelithar

DOB: 50th day of Caelunor, 1470 A.R (30)

Rank: Noble/Marquess

Kingdom: Thaloriel

Powers: Tideforging (magitek infusion)

Occupation: Researcher and Professor in the Thaloriel Institute of Technology

Residence: Velunthar Isles, Thaloriel/ Thaloriel outpost in Edrathin

Orientation: Bisexual

Marital Status: Engaged

# data[].attributes.body
(+ Strengths) observant, patient when needed, critical thinker, solution seeker, trust worthy, humble, hard worker, empathetic, curious, innovative

(- Weaknesses) curious, often impulsive, cowardly, indecisive, antisocial, naive

MBTI: INTP ( the logician )

Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Likes: trinkets, gadgets, magitek infusion, velunthar institute of technology, knowledge, the pursuit for more knowledge, research, solitude, hum of energy and the understanding of how things operated, low tide, calm lakes and rivers, abandoned temples, books, blending in, swimming, strolls across the coast line by the institute before dawn.

Dislikes: being perceived, turbulent seas, voyages, travel, the heat in solkarath, festivals, crowds, company, a party with too many members, expeditions that take more than a month, being stuck in a project, not knowing the solution to a problem, being idle, noise, fanfare, obvious displays of wealth, inequality, confrontation, yelling, heights

# data[].attributes.body
We Watch from the Silver Veil

Perhaps the youngest and most recent addition to the ranks of Thaloriel's noble houses, House Caelithar stands as a symbol of ingenuity, perseverance, and the power of intellect. Their rise to prominence is a tale that spans a century, but one that has already etched itself into the annals of Thaloriel’s history. Their ascension was heralded by the groundbreaking research and inventions of their Head of House, a visionary whose work would shape the very fabric of Thaloriel’s role in the Occupation of Edrathin. It was through these innovations that House Caelithar became inseparable from the Occupation’s success, particularly the further development of Magitek Infusion—a powerful fusion of magic and technology that gave Thaloriel an edge in the war.

The weapons they engineered, crafted through the synthesis of arcane energy and mechanized precision, were not only vital to the military campaign but also marked a turning point in the nation’s technological evolution. It was these very accomplishments that caught the eye of the past Lunarchy, whose decision to elevate the Caelithars to noble status was met with no dissent.

Now, the Caelithars stand at the forefront of Thaloriel’s current advancements, their influence felt in every facet of the nation’s technological and magical endeavors. As the chief architects behind many of the kingdom’s modern innovations, they are the driving force behind the research, design, and development that shape Thaloriel’s future.

# data[].attributes.body
Face Claim: Byeon Wooseok

Appearance: Standing at an imposing 6'3", Lioren towers over most Thalorians and indeed, most citizens across Aelmyros. His height alone makes him difficult to overlook, a presence that draws the eye even when he would prefer to remain unseen. Despite his stature, he carries himself with the posture of a lifelong scholar. Slightly hunched from hours bent over scrolls and tomes, his back reluctantly straightening only when delivering lectures to attentive halls.

Lioren’s features are sharply defined—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a gaze that can seem piercing at first glance. To some, his appearance might be intimidating, but any such impression quickly dissolves when he speaks.

His voice is soft, almost meditative in tone, carrying the steady cadence of the sea at low tide. Rarely does he raise it, nor does he ever use his physical presence to assert dominance. It is only during discourse, particularly on matters of history, technology, or objective celestial lore—that his eyes come alive. Wide, bright, and brimming with quiet intensity.

notable scars: none at present

# data[].attributes.body
Born on the 50th day of Caelunor, Lioren's arrival was heralded with both quiet reverence and great anticipation. The Duke and Duchess of Velunthar, long yearning for an heir, welcomed their firstborn beneath the high-arched towers of House Caelithar with joy and mounting expectation. The stars that night were said to burn a little brighter over the city, as if the heavens themselves acknowledged the birth of a child destined to carry a storied legacy.

To say Lioren was born into privilege would be an understatement. He lacked for nothing—surrounded by scholars, tutors, and every luxury the noble courts could offer. Yet it was not comfort or indulgence that defined his early years, but curiosity. From the moment he could grasp with his hands, he disassembled clocks, puzzle-boxes, and intricate mechanical birds, only to reconstruct them again with startling precision. It was a delight to his parents, who watched with pride as their son’s inquisitive nature flourished. Lioren became the very child that House Caelithar, in its most desperate prayers to Selunareth, had asked for—a mind alight with wonder and intellect.

But he was not born to command.

Lioren’s voice did not ring with the force of authority. When he spoke, it was with gentleness—measured, thoughtful, often drowned out by the louder, hungrier ambitions of those around him. His words, though wise, lacked the edge of arrogance or assertion that so often marked the graduates of the Velunthar Institute of Technology. While his peers sought applause, Lioren sought understanding. And that difference, subtle yet persistent, became a point of quiet resentment.

He offered help, knowledge, and companionship. In return, he was met with jealousy—his kindness mistaken for condescension, his guidance viewed as pity. The more he reached out, the more isolated he became. Whispers trailed him down hallways. Eyes that once looked to him with admiration began to avert.

In time, Lioren withdrew. Not out of bitterness, but confusion. He never fully understood why the world recoiled from gentleness, or why a mind that longed to share was treated with suspicion. So he built walls instead of bridges, seeking solace in solitude, in study, in silence. There, alone among the things he could understand and rebuild, he found a quieter sort of belonging.

# data[].attributes.body
members:

Head of House: Duke Lione Caelithar (alive/npc)

Duchess Erys Caelithar (alive/npc)

Lioren Caelithar

Lilianna Caelithar

Lirael Caelithar (NPC, lost, 25)

# data[].attributes.body
"dear dear, my most distant love-

when I dream of you, I wake in a field so blue I drown."

❃ Name:

❃ Orientation:

❃ Love Language: Acts of service, Quality Time (giving and receiving)

# data[].attributes.body
1. Lioren typically dresses in simple, muted tones, soft indigos and gentle shades of sky blue; favoring understated robes that mirror his quiet disposition. More often than not, however, he is seen in the standard uniform of the university, blending seamlessly into the scholarly halls of the Institute. Outside its walls, his attire remains modest: light, breathable garments that prioritize comfort over status. These outfits bear little to no indication of his noble lineage, a deliberate choice that belies the fact that he hails from one of the most prominent and influential houses of Thaloriel.

2. Only when duty compels him to appear at Caer Nyxalara on occasions of courtly importance or when fulfilling obligations tied to his family name does he wear attire that hints at his noble standing. Even then, his garments remain restrained in style and color, and he pointedly refrains from adorning himself with jewelry, insignias, or any embellishment that might draw unnecessary attention.

Though he avoids ornamentation and steers clear of ostentatious displays, one item never leaves Lioren’s person: a moonseal wristlet, worn habitually on his left wrist. Sleek and unobtrusive, the slender band is a quiet marvel of Thalorian innovation—one of the latest technologies crafted by the Caelithars, introduced only twelve years ago.

# data[].attributes.body
Though withdrawn from the world, his reputation flourished. Especially within the Velunthar Institute of Technology.

His name became something of a myth, whispered with reverence by those who passed through the institute's halls.

Lioren received no preferential treatment from House Caelithar, the powerful family behind the institution. He neither sought their favor nor relied on their influence. Instead, he chose the path of discipline and integrity, completing his studies as any other student would.

Upon graduation, many expected him to rise through the ranks of the Lunarchy’s technocratic elite. His talents were undeniable, his credentials impeccable.

Yet Lioren defied those expectations. He declined advancement into the governing bodies, opting instead to remain at Velunthar. There, he continued his research, mentored promising minds, and devoted himself to the evolution of magitek. His workshop—cluttered, arcane, and alive with strange energies—became both sanctuary and forge.

Rarely does he appear in the capital city of Nymarielle, and even then, only at the direct summons of the Lunarchy.

In the quiet of his self-imposed isolation, Lioren forged a profound and intricate bond with machinery. Removed from the distractions of society, he delved into the heart of technology—much of which he had a hand in shaping.

By the age of just twenty-five, his intellect and innovation had already carved a permanent mark in the annals of magitek history.

Lioren was instrumental in the creation, distribution, and widespread adoption of Moonseals. Arcane-infused devices powered by magitek that would help shape Thaloriel's current economy.

# data[].attributes.body
Lioren’s tideforging magick is distinctive, not merely in its form, but in the medium through which it manifests. Unlike most practitioners, he channels his power not through weaponry or standard government issued technology but through a network of intricate gadgets—cleverly assembled mechanisms that seem mundane at first glance. These devices, scattered throughout his workspace and hidden within the privacy of his home, serve as vessels for his art.

Though tideforging is strictly regulated by the government, Lioren evades scrutiny by masking his craft behind engineering ingenuity. Yet for those attuned to magick, the truth is harder to conceal. His equipment hums with a subtle resonance—a frequency that carries the unmistakable imprint of his energy. A faint blue glow pulses from within the seams, not unlike the signature hues of House Caelithar. However, the glow is deliberately subdued, a muted echo of the family crest, an unspoken homage to the Marquess.

# data[].attributes.body
At present, Lioren Caelithar remains deeply immersed in his unrelenting pursuit of higher knowledge, having chosen the hallowed halls of the Velunthar Institute of Technology over the political stage of court. Rather than tether himself to the limitations of noble expectation, he commands significant influence within the institute, where his renown affords him an unusual degree of freedom—freedom to direct his research without oversight, to chase abstract theories with reckless precision, and to pursue answers to questions most scholars would never dare to ask aloud.

Yet, wherever Lioren walks, whispers follow like a shadow stretching in his wake. It is said though never too loudly that he would barter anything, forsake anyone, and burn through any boundary if it meant satisfying the urgings of his restless, fevered mind. Knowledge, to him, is not merely an aspiration it borders into an obsession. One he has long surrendered himself to.

His methods are often regarded as controversial at best, ethically dubious at worst. When confronted, he offers no defense beyond a dismissive shrug, often stating that such standards are arbitrary constructs. To Lioren, moral codes serve only to blind humanity to the truest and most efficient paths forward. Progress, he believes, demands sacrifice—clarity demands a certain ruthlessness.

Few claim to truly know the man behind the mind. Fewer still can say with confidence what, if anything, stirs beneath his calm, inscrutable demeanor. Whether he feels deeply and simply hides it well, or whether he has burned through the last of his humanity in service to his intellect, remains one of the many mysteries that surrounds the Marquess of Velunthar.

# data[].attributes.body
1. Lioren is easily frightened. A sudden loud noise, an unexplained sound are one of the many things that could make him jumpy.

2. Has a wide assortment of gadgets. One of his favorite ones is like a small pet. Powered by magitek infusion, he calls it "myr". A small beetle-like gadget that can double as a surveillance and recording device.

3. Is often mistaken to be speaking to himself but really he's just speaking calculations out loud and making mental notes for on going projects.

4. Observant to a fault. He attributes it to countless hours observing the subtle change in his projects and experiments and so he could be caught staring at someone for too long as he study their cues. If you catch the Marquess staring at you, it must mean you piqued his curiosity.

# data[].attributes.body
Type: Arranged Betrothal

Dynamics: Cordial(?)

# data[].attributes.body
Type: Lost and Found

Dynamics: Unsure

# data[].attributes.body
Type: Prince-Subject

Dynamics: Dubious Friendship, Partners in crime

# data[].attributes.headline
♖ ― ᴀɴᴇᴄᴅᴏᴛᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ ʟɪᴏʀᴇɴ ᴄᴀᴇʟɪᴛʜᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴠᴇʟᴜɴᴛʜᴀʀ’ꜱ ɪɴꜱᴛɪᴛᴜᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴᴏʟᴏɢʏ.

# data[].attributes.subject
♖ ― ᴀɴᴇᴄᴅᴏᴛᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ ʟɪᴏʀᴇɴ ᴄᴀᴇʟɪᴛʜᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴠᴇʟᴜɴᴛʜᴀʀ’ꜱ ɪɴꜱᴛɪᴛᴜᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴᴏʟᴏɢʏ.

# data[].attributes.body
—

When students and staff across the Institute are asked about the reclusive professor, a peculiar pattern emerges. No single account is the same, and yet all agree on one thing. He is the enigmatic genius of the Institute. Quiet, inscrutable, and entirely unpredictable. Some revere him, others steer clear, and a few are still trying to figure out whether they were blessed or cursed by crossing his path.

—

[Student One] : “I swear, he’s got some kind of sixth sense. One time during his Advanced Moonseal Applications course, I got a little creative and decided to rearrange the sequence of runes for a moonseal construct—just for fun. I didn’t think he’d notice. I was subtle! Or at least, I /thought/ I was. But the moment I handed it in, he just… took it from me. No expression, no words. Just snatched it right out of my hands. It’s like he could /smell/ the rune placement was wrong.

I expected a lecture or maybe some punishment, but he didn’t even scold me. Just stared at me, sighed, and walked away. Then the next day, he handed me a folded piece of paper before class. I opened it, thinking maybe it was notes or feedback or something, but to my dismay it was a list of chores. A long one. Said if I didn’t finish all of them by the end of the week, he’d have no choice but to fail me. I was scrubbing beaker stains off floor tiles, reorganizing rune archives, feeding the cats in the North Wing—everything! Needless to say, I dropped the class. Haven’t taken any of his since.”

[Student Two] : “Honestly? I think he’s kind of sweet. I once left a bunch of samples and half-finished projects in the Armory. Totally forgot. Thought I was done for. But when I went back, there he was—holding one of the samples like he’d been waiting. He didn’t even look mad. Just said, ‘You’ll hurt the data’s integrity if it sits too long,’ and walked me back so I could collect everything. Even helped carry the heavier components. That is not something most professors would do.”

[Student One (again)] : “Okay, but how is that fair? Sounds like favoritism to me…”

–

[Staff One] : "The professor never sleeps. I have worked the night shift for years and not once. Not once have I seen the lights go off in his laboratory. It’s always glowing in there, that faint, eerie blue from Aether and his inventions. I used to think maybe he had a schedule opposite ours, but no... he’s just always there. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he brewed some kind of serum to survive on no sleep. Then again, it’s not like he has a life outside the Institute. Maybe this /is/ his life. Maybe... that’s just the way he’s wired.”

[Staff Two] : "Wired is the right word. With how long he’s been locked in that lab, I wouldn’t be surprised if he /is/ part mechanism by now. Maybe he doesn’t /need/ sleep because he’s replaced half his internal systems. If he figured out how to generate a self-sustaining Aether loop, he could be running on pure magitek. No food, no rest. Just endless research, twenty-four hours a day.”

[Staff One] : “Come on. We’re scientists, engineers, developers. . . not gods.”

[Staff Two] : “Exactly. That’s the difference between us and him. The professor doesn’t believe in gods. . . he just replaces them.”

# data[].attributes.body
writing...

# data[].attributes.body
writing...

# data[].attributes.body
Lioren was born beneath the light of a full moon. Even in Thaloriel where the Caelithars prized reason over superstition, stirred quiet celebration. The Duke and Duchess welcomed their son with unspoken hope. In him, they saw the promise of a future as the one destined to uphold and carry forward the legacy of House Caelithar.

# data[].attributes.body
( age 14 )

Tragedy befell the House of the Veilwater when its youngest child was kidnapped. The event left a permanent mark on the family, but none more so than Lioren. Naturally quiet and introspective, he withdrew even further into himself, refusing to speak or engage with other children. Instead, he sought refuge in the solitude of the Caelithar estate and the quiet order of the Institute—places untouched by noise, where no one asked questions he didn’t want to answer.

# data[].attributes.body
( age 16 )

Lioren Caelithar was finally seen beyond the estate walls and institute labs, making his first appearance in society at a public gala—a rare unveiling that stirred quiet curiosity among Thaloriel’s nobility. The occasion coincided with the rise of a new noble house, recently elevated and eager to secure its place within the country's intricate web of power. Amidst the gilded conversations and veiled glances, it was there that Lioren met his first true friend. A gentle soul whose quiet kindness began to chip away at the walls the reclusive young Marquess had long built around himself. Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, Lioren began to trust again.

# data[].attributes.body
( age 18-19 )

For reasons known only to him, Lioren withdrew from the world once more after completing the Institute’s foundational program. Whatever spark society had kindled in him dimmed swiftly, replaced by a relentless devotion to study. He buried himself in research with single-minded intensity, distancing himself from public life as whispers began to circle once again. And yet, it was in that very year of isolation that he achieved what few could: he became the brilliant mind behind the finalization of House Caelithar’s newest and most celebrated invention—Moonseals.

A year later, a collaboration between the Institute and La Perla di Polarius was unveiled. The Moonseals were adorned by the famed jeweler’s artisans—transformed into objects of both convenience and beauty. The partnership captivated Thaloriel, marking a rare harmony between science and art, and bringing Lioren’s work into the public eye like never before.

# data[].attributes.body
( age 25 )

It came as no surprise when, rather than seeking a position beyond the Institute or entering Thaloriel’s government, the first Marquess chose instead to deepen his scholarly pursuits. From Head Researcher to Scribe, Lioren quickly rose through the Institute’s ranks, working directly under professors who often felt unworthy of their station beside him. Yet he never spoke of it. Humble and unassuming, he made no boast of his discoveries—only continuing his quiet, relentless pursuit of knowledge. Galas saw little of him; he appeared at Caer Nyxalara only when duty made it impossible to refuse.

# data[].attributes.body
( age 30 )

Now a professor at the Institute, Lioren Caelithar has finally found his footing. But whispers still trail him with rumors claiming he is cold, unapproachable, that his gaze cuts through a person before they can speak. But within the walls of the classroom, all of that fades. There, he is a quiet force of inspiration, enriching the minds of Thaloriel’s future with endless patience. Yet beneath the polished floors of the Institute, behind the prestige of the family that owns it, and even within Lioren himself—who often seems more machine than man—there are secrets long kept. And in Thaloriel, everything hidden eventually comes to light.

# data[].attributes.body
❃ Type: Assistant/A secret he hides

❃ Dynamics: Positive

# data[].attributes.headline
♖ ― ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅꜱ, ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʟᴅᴇʀꜱ

# data[].attributes.subject
♖ ― ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅꜱ, ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʟᴅᴇʀꜱ

# data[].attributes.body
Everything within Lioren Caelithar’s laboratory had its place and remained precisely in it.

Folders were meticulously categorized, scrolls aligned by date and discipline, every shelf curated to an obsessive degree. Not a single paper bore an unintended crease, not a single pen rested askew. Even discarded drafts, spoiled tinctures, and failed experiments had designated spaces, carefully labeled and stored for reference.

It was not order born of chaos, nor chaos masquerading as order. Rather, it was an order so deliberate, so exacting, that it teetered into the uncanny. Assistants quickly learned that even the slightest deviation. A vial moved half an inch, a marginal note out of sequence would not escape the professor’s notice.

There was a madness in the precision, a discipline that felt more like ritual than routine. And while to an outsider it may have appeared clinical or cold, to Lioren, it was sacred. In the silence of glass clinks and parchment rustle, his mind moved best—calm only in this curated symphony of structure.

But this was how the Professor moved. He filed and categorized the world much like he did his laboratory. Elements, components, phenomena… people. Nothing escaped his notice. Everything belonged somewhere. In the vast, unseen archive of his mind, everything had an invisible bin, tucked away into endless mental shelves.

A fleeting conversation might sit beside a half-formed theory; a name, a face, a habit—all sorted and remembered. A glance was a data point. A silence, a pattern.

To others, it could feel impersonal. Clinical, even. But for Lioren, this was how the world made sense. The chaos outside became manageable when it could be named, stored, recalled.

And in that quiet, sprawling labyrinth of memory, nothing was ever truly lost.

One such thing born from this compulsive habit of storing and sorting was the archive of notes he kept, a meticulous collection detailing every experiment he had ever conducted, every project he had ever constructed. Nothing was ever left undocumented, not even the ones that should have been.

His most important records were kept in a central drawer, locked tight with a magitek-infused seal attuned to his own aether signature—a security measure he developed when he was only fourteen.

Some called it unnecessary. Others called it genius. Lioren never cared to explain why even his discarded hypotheses were hidden behind so many layers of protection.

But those closest to him had always wondered what exactly he kept in that drawer. And why, when no one was looking, the Professor would sometimes linger by it just a little too long.

Not everything filed away was meant to be found.

# data[].attributes.headline
♖ ― ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ

# data[].attributes.subject
♖ ― ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ

# data[].attributes.body
[ 1484 ]

He had a brother once. . .

Lirael Caelithar.

Where Lioren often seemed carved from stillness and logic, as if his soul shared its rhythm with the delicate machines he so loved to craft and tinker with, Lirael was his opposite in every way. A boy brimming with laughter and wide-eyed wonder, whose presence seemed to coax warmth from even the coldest of spaces. He had a way of making people feel as though the world was not so cruel, not so heavy. In that, he mirrored their sister and their mother the luminous Duchess Erys—light incarnate in a house that bore the burden of too many shadows of the crimes their ancestors committed for their noble title.

But the House of the Veilwater had no shortage of enemies. Both within the glittering courts of Thaloriel and far beyond its marble walls. Somewhere, someone had learned too much. When they came, it was Lioren they meant to take—he, the quiet heir, the prodigious mind, the jewel of Caelithar legacy. But they made a mistake. Or perhaps, they made a choice. They took Lirael instead.

And everything changed.

Their parents, once proud and commanding, crumbled beneath the weight of their grief. And Lioren—only fourteen years old at the time did not cry. Not once. He simply folded in on himself, like a page creased at the corner, marked by something no one else could read. A part of him understood, even then, that it should have been him. That knowledge festered in silence, growing roots in his bones.

From that moment on, the boy who had once dreamed of crafting marvels for the world became the man who sought only to retreat from it. He locked the doors to his heart and threw away the key, placing his trust instead in gears and glass, in metal that could not lie, in inventions that did not betray.

To him, people became unpredictable storms. Greedy, volatile forces that wrecked without remorse.

And so, the first Marquess of the House of the Veilwater grew quieter with each passing year, until the only things that truly knew him were the delicate machines he built in the solitude of the institute.