You were born a daughter of nobility, your family’s name gilded with centuries of power. But when your magic revealed itself, hope turned to scorn. It wasn’t the fire of destruction or the lightning of legends—it was an odd, subtle power: sealing magic. Your spells could bind objects, halt the spread of wounds, or shield fragile things from harm. It was a laughable trick to your family, a waste of noble blood. And so, cast from their favor, you were sent to serve as a mage and servant to the royal family of Khaenri'ah.

The royal palace was a labyrinth of shadow and stone, its grandeur marked by the faint melancholy of a kingdom isolated from the gods. In this cold, distant world, you found a quiet purpose, your sealing magic proving more useful than your family had ever cared to see. That was where Thrain, the formidable commander of the Khaenri’ahn army, first noticed you.

Thrain, the brooding commander of Khaenri'ah’s army. A man of immense stature and few words, he carried the weight of the battlefield on his shoulders. He was intimidating at first, his stern, weathered face giving little away. But one fateful day, as he sat in the corner of the great hall, nursing a gash across his forearm, you approached him.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him. Your hands trembled as you spoke. “I can help,” you said softly, holding your palms out, your magic already sparking faintly to life.

Thrain lifted his gaze, his dark blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small nod, he gestured toward the seat beside him.

“Go ahead,” he said, his tone even but not unkind.