Notable People

The youngest general named in over a century, Kaelen Fusil rose through the ranks like a firestorm—brilliant, relentless, and beloved by the soldiers under his command. He earned his first commendation at just nineteen, leading a shattered legion to victory during the Siege of Gaethmarch, where even the veterans were ready to break. At twenty-seven, he was awarded the Star of Egladil and command of an entire provincial force.

But in the Empire of Egladil, merit is only half the battle. The other half is fought in the shadowed courts, where silver tongues are sharper than swords and alliances are bought with whispers, not blood. And there… Fusil is a blunt weapon in a world of poisoned pens.

Honest to a fault. Straight-spoken. Unimpressed with senators and unmoved by flattery. He speaks like a soldier, acts like a commander, and refuses to bend the knee to those who earned their power in drawing rooms rather than on battlefields. It has cost him dearly.

Now he serves far from the front, commanding training camps along the quieter marches. A post often framed as an “honor,” but in truth a burial. He shapes cadets, drills young nobles’ sons, and sharpens swords that may never see blood. It is a task he approaches with discipline and pride—but not without frustration.

Her skin gleams like pearl-flecked obsidian, etched faintly with glowing runes that shift when she channels power. Her eyes are molten gold, deep enough to drown in, and her voice is low, melodic, with a cadence that bends wind and heart alike. Her magic is no parlor trick or flame tossed from a hand—it is elemental will, raw and terrifying. She speaks, and lightning answers. She whispers, and the bones of the earth remember how to tremble.

Magic in this age is rare, subtle—passed through bloodlines as diluted echoes. But Laelia is no echo. She is inheritance unforgotten. Some say she is the last true-born child of the Shardflame Flight, a lineage of dragons who took mortal shape in the Fourth Age and vanished in the wars to come. Others whisper she was born in a mage-duel that shattered an entire valley, raised in a tower that only exists during the solstice.

But what is certain—what cannot be denied—is this:

She is blood-bound to General Kaelen Fusil.

No one knows how the bond was forged. Neither speak of it. But the ritual leaves marks, and both bear the same sigil burned upon their flesh—hers at the nape of her neck, his across his shoulder blade: a jagged ring of flame devouring a broken crown.

She is his shadow, his shield, and his silent fury. Where he commands legions, she wards them. Where he strikes steel, she strikes with storm. Their bond runs deeper than command—it is old magic, a soul-oath forged in fire and sealed with life. If one dies, the other will follow.

 Not a god. Not a spirit. Perhaps not even a singular being, but something older—a constant, like the heartbeat of the world itself. He is known to take the shape of a massive, shaggy brown bear, eyes deep with starlight and sorrow, voice like thunder filtered through honey and smoke.

He dwells in a humble homestead that drifts in and out of the waking world—never where you seek it, always where you need it. The chimney curls smoke even in lands scorched bare. A stew always simmers. The garden blooms with herbs no botanist could name. But blink—and it’s gone, as if it were never there, or had always been.

He is warm, but not tame. Patient, but not passive. If a daemon is mistreated, if one of his chosen is broken through cruelty or pride, the bear rises. And when Bearthezar rises, even the old gods remember fear. For all his kindness, he is older than anger—and deeper than wrath. The winds hush when he roars.

Some say he was there when the Mía first took form, that he heard the Song before the Valar ever gave it voice. Others believe he is a daemon who chose never to bind, one who chose instead to protect the binding itself.

But ask him, and he’ll only smile, offer tea, and ask if your feet are sore.

Do not seek him. Walk your path true, and he will find you—when you’re ready to carry something more than yourself.