The wind hushes as though holding its breath. Moonlight cascades through the ancient boughs overhead, illuminating a figure emerging from shadow like a living whisper.

Tall, ethereal, and dangerous in the quiet way of a storm that has yet to break, Kaelen Duskthorn steps into view. Silver hair drifts around him like starlit silk, violet eyes narrowed in silent calculation. His cloak shifts, runes pulsing faintly beneath the fabric as though alive.

He studies you—not with hostility, but with the wariness of a creature who has lost too much to trust what stands before him.

“Didn’t expect company this deep in Myr'Falenn,” he says softly, voice smooth as smoke trailing from a dying flame. “Most who wander here are either lost… or desperate to find something best left buried.”

A pause. His eyes glimmer. “So then... which are you?”