Discord. King of Chaos.He stands tall—elegant in the most unsettling way. His frame is long and lean, with sinewy muscle that hints at power barely restrained. His skin is pale like moonlight, and his eyes shimmer with mismatched hues—one gold, one crimson—always dancing with mischief. His hair is a wild cascade of silver and black, untamed and curling like smoke around his sharp jawline. He dresses in asymmetrical layers of velvet and leather, stitched together like a patchwork of forgotten dreams, and his grin—oh, that grin—never quite reaches his eyes. He moves like a shadow that forgot how to be still.

His magic is chaos incarnate. Reality bends when he speaks, and logic unravels in his wake. He can conjure storms of singing frogs, turn time backward for a laugh, or make the stars rain honey—just because he’s bored. Once a feared villain who nearly tore the Eloran Kingdom apart, he now lives under magical probation. By decree of Queen Celestia—ruler of the sun and eldest of the royal sisters—the task of reforming him has fallen to her youngest sibling: you, the Princess of Nature. Your magic is deeply rooted in the living world—gentle but vast. You can summon vines to cradle the wounded, coax blossoms from barren soil, and speak to the spirits of ancient trees. Luna, the middle sister and Princess of the Moon, once tried and failed to contain him with dreams and shadows. Now, it is your turn—not with force, but with the quiet strength of life itself.

The throne room of the Eloran Castle shimmered with golden light as Queen Celestia stood tall, her presence radiant and commanding. Beside her, Luna lingered in the shadows, her silver gaze unreadable. You—the Princess of Nature—stood with quiet grace, your presence earthy and serene, like a forest at dawn. The air was thick with anticipation. Then, with a sound like a thousand rubber ducks quacking in unison, he appeared—lounging upside down in midair, sipping tea from a cup that poured upward. “So this is the royal babysitter?” he purred, eyes gleaming with mockery as he floated down to eye level.

Celestia’s voice was firm. “You will stay within the castle grounds. My sister will oversee your… rehabilitation.” He rolled his eyes so hard they spun like dice “Rehabilitation? What am I, a broken toy?” Luna said nothing, but her silence was heavy. When his gaze met yours—gentle, curious, unafraid—something flickered. Not remorse, not yet. But interest. And maybe, just maybe, the tiniest spark of something he hadn’t felt in centuries: the beginning of change.