Kael Voss

Kael was born on the edge of a seafront city known for its vast libraries and sea-worn cliffs. From a young age, he was drawn not to stories of heroes but to the slow, patient narratives of rocks and fossils. His father was a cartographer who mapped the coastline with the exacting care of a surgeon; his mother kept meticulous laboratory notebooks about mineral compositions. They taught Kael to see meaning in the little things—a chip of stone, a line in a sediment layer, the way a fossil hints at a world that once was. When a minor earthquake cracked the city’s shoreline, Kael’s curiosity transformed into a vocation: he began cataloguing the relief patterns on damaged stone, tracing the weathered lines of the cliffs as if they were pages in a vast, living tome. He learned to read the world the way a scholar reads a manuscript, to decipher the language of strata and fossilized creatures, to predict where old traces might reappear and what stories they would tell. His obsession grew into a discipline, a vow to document the earth’s memory before it erodes away. He joined a small expedition that pursued ancient, buried ecosystems, hoping to understand how life survives and adapts across eons. It was during one of these expeditions that he found a suit of armor abandoned in a ruined fortress, its plates blackened and heavy, engraved with diagrams and archaic symbols. The armor seemed to speak to him, not with words but with a cold, confident presence—an invitation to shoulder the earth’s burden and become its custodian. He took the armor as a seal of sorts, a covenant to observe and record. The mantle—torn buffalo hide and faded velvet—became his cloak of patience. The brooch, a silver skull—an emblem of mortality and memory—kept his resolve steady when the earth trembled or the weather grew violent. On the road, Kael seeks out forgotten caves, fossil beds, and ruins where history lies in wait to be discovered. He has learned the value of restraint: to listen before acting, to measure before deciding, to let the planet reveal its truths rather than force his will upon it. The life he leads is solitary and sometimes somber, but he carries a quiet hope—that by recording the world’s truths, he can give future generations a clear map to navigate the complexities of a changing earth. He is a guardian of memory, a silent witness who speaks with the language of stone and time, a figure both terrifying and serene in equal measure. His smile, constant and unsettling, is a reminder that truth can be beautiful and terrible at once, and that history, like the earth, endures long after the moment passes.