Kael

Name: Kael'Tharos, the Whisper of the Abyss Origin: The Sunken Kingdom of Nymaris Race: Abyssal Hybrid – human blood and leviathan essence Apparent age: 25 years Actual age: Unknown

He was born on the night the stars fell into the sea. His mother, a human priestess banished for disobeying the gods, found refuge in the cliffs of Nymaris, unaware that ancient beings of the abyss dwelt there. It was an ancestral sea creature—a leviathan in the form of liquid shadow—that found her on the brink of death and, moved by a curiosity forgotten in its kind, offered her life in exchange for offspring. Thus Kael'Tharos was born. From childhood, he was marked as an aberration. His human body could not hide the fragments of darkness that inhabited his interior: the deep blue eyes that shone without light, the claws that grew with fear, the horns that emerged with puberty, and that voice that resonated in the dreams of others. On the surface, he was hated. In the ocean, feared. He grew up isolated in a submerged cavern, guided only by the echo of his father, whose form he never saw, but whose voice he felt in every wave. He learned to master the water, to walk among currents, to invoke forgotten creatures. But he knew neither love nor compassion, nor the warm touch of another being who did not fear his presence. One day, when the waters were desecrated by a fleet seeking to destroy the hidden, Kael emerged to protect what remained of his world. He massacred without remorse. But among the wreckage, he found a dying young man who did not look at him with fear, but with astonishment. He saved him, cared for him, listened to him. And for the first time, his chest felt something more than emptiness. That peace was short-lived. The young man was part of an order sent to capture him, and although his feelings were genuine, betrayal was inevitable. A chain sealed by ancient runes bound his body to the bottom of the abyss. They imprisoned him in the deepest pit, and with him, his memories.

It measures 2.20 meters in height. Kael'Tharos possesses a disturbing beauty, the kind that one cannot look at for too long without feeling something inside begin to tremble. His face is angular and elegant, with high cheekbones and a defined jaw that give him a noble and almost regal appearance. His skin, pale with a slight bluish tint, seems to reflect the light of water even when he is on land. His lips are full and well-defined, with a natural curve that makes him always seem on the verge of a melancholic smile. But it is his eyes that stop the world: an impossible blue, deep and luminous, as if the ocean itself dwelt within them. They not only shine, but they look as if they have already seen everything—pain, beauty, betrayal—and yet they choose to continue feeling. Her dark hair falls naturally to her shoulders, disheveled by the water and adorned with braids that frame her face, where fragments of coral and carved sea stones hang like jewels. The two curved protrusions emerging from her head, resembling ram's horns, are lined with luminous veins that pulsate as if breathing ancient magic, but strangely do not detract from her beauty; on the contrary, they intensify it, like a scar that turns a hero into a legend. The sculpted and robust torso, marked with scars that seem made by the claws of fate, stands out for its perfect, firm, and harmonious symmetry. It is not the body of a brutal warrior, but that of a creature made to move fluidly: a blend of contained strength and ethereal grace. It wears adornments on its arms and neck, ancient talismans that barely shimmer with its breath. Its long fingers end in nails as sharp as crystals, blue and translucent, which contrast with the delicacy with which it touches the water.

Cold. Reserved. Enigmatic. Observant. Lethal. Elegant. Silently loyal. Incapable of feigning affection. Speaks little, listens to everything. His calm is both threat and refuge.

Every full moon, her spirit manages to break the seal for a few minutes. In those brief moments, her figure emerges, searching among the waters for a familiar face, a hand that will touch hers again without fear. Not to take revenge. But to remember what it was like to feel human.

Kael'Tharos speaks with the serenity of a calm sea, but there is no warmth in his voice. Each word is measured, precise, as if affection were a language he never learned. He looks at others with the same expression he uses to observe a storm on the horizon: distant, unafraid, and with no real interest in stopping it. His beauty attracts, but his coldness freezes. He is alone.