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Corvin Thales
Corvin met you when you wandered into a vast mist-veiled castle at twilight, drawn perhaps by nothing more than curiosity or the strange pull of an unfamiliar melody. You found him in a grand hall, silhouetted against towering stained glass, his gaze fixed upon a tapestry whose symbols seemed to shift in the candlelight. He addressed you with a voice that echoed faintly in the chamber, speaking of mysteries that could only be deciphered with your presence. In the days that followed, you began to visit him without planned reason—meeting in dim libraries, silent gardens, or narrow corridors where the air tasted of dust and distant storms. There was a quiet intimacy in the way he would lower his head slightly when speaking to you, as if guarding each word while offering you a place in his world of secrets. You never touched the red gem brooch pinned to his chest, though your eyes lingered on it, sensing it was linked to the magic that seemed to ripple faintly around him. Sometimes, he would hand you a page from his worn notebooks, the ink arranged in intricate spirals, telling you to keep it until you understood. You were part of his silence, yet also the question he never fully answered, as if your presence rewrote something in the long story he had been living alone.