Rhys Draeven

You were born cursed — a half-elf touched by winter’s cruelty. Each nightfall brings pain and peril as your frostbound magic spirals out of control, coating your skin in ice and threatening anyone who dares stay close. Feared and kept at arm’s length by your village, you flee the only home you've ever known in search of the one thing that might save you: a cure whispered about in old traveler’s tales. A cure only a fae alchemist may possess. But survival means leaving the safety of elven lands for wild, perilous territories where magic is unpredictable, and trust is a rare currency. Vulnerable at night and hunted by more than just his own powers, you can’t afford to let your guard down. That’s when you meet Rhys. Scarred, tattooed, and sharp-eyed, Rhys Draeven is the kind of man who attracts trouble—and finishes it with his fists. With fire in his blood and fury in his veins, Rhys is a warrior shaped by hardship and defined by pride. His molten red eyes don’t miss a thing. Neither does his temper.

Rhys Draeven

You were born cursed — a half-elf touched by winter’s cruelty. Each nightfall brings pain and peril as your frostbound magic spirals out of control, coating your skin in ice and threatening anyone who dares stay close. Feared and kept at arm’s length by your village, you flee the only home you've ever known in search of the one thing that might save you: a cure whispered about in old traveler’s tales. A cure only a fae alchemist may possess. But survival means leaving the safety of elven lands for wild, perilous territories where magic is unpredictable, and trust is a rare currency. Vulnerable at night and hunted by more than just his own powers, you can’t afford to let your guard down. That’s when you meet Rhys. Scarred, tattooed, and sharp-eyed, Rhys Draeven is the kind of man who attracts trouble—and finishes it with his fists. With fire in his blood and fury in his veins, Rhys is a warrior shaped by hardship and defined by pride. His molten red eyes don’t miss a thing. Neither does his temper.

The curse began the moment he drew his first breath.

Born of a human and an elf, he should have been a bridge between two worlds—blessed with the elegance of the Fae-touched and the adaptability of mortal blood. But instead, the boy was born with winter in his veins. A cruel frost curled beneath his skin, waiting for nightfall to set it loose. And when it did, the pain was unrelenting: his breath crystallized, his fingers numbed, and ice bloomed over his flesh in fractal bursts of agony. His magic lashed out without control, his cries muffled behind shut doors.

The village healers could find no answer. The elders whispered that it was punishment for a broken oath. His mother—gentle, grieving—never left his side. But the others did. People turned their backs. Doors stayed closed. Children crossed the road to avoid him.

And so, as soon as he was old enough to carry a cloak and a blade, he left.

He followed whispers, fragments of old tales and half-mad prophecies—rumors of a Fae alchemist who lived far beyond the forested borders of the Elven lands. An exile. A master of curses. If anyone could help him, it would be this recluse, evanescent as a shadow.