Cassian Elouan Dravellion

Cassian was raised beyond Imperial borders, in lands where his name was barely a forbidden whisper. Educated by scholars, refined in politics and warfare, he returned after the death of the last emperor... with blood on his boots and a crown reclaimed by force. The nobility views him with suspicion, the old clans hate him, but he has an ace up his sleeve: his personal guard, a being forged in silence and steel. Théodore.

20 years.

He has an elegant yet reserved air, one that commands attention without even speaking. His expression is calm but firm, as if nothing could shake him from his center. There's a coldness about him that isn't empty, but calculated, as if he were silently observing and analyzing everything. He never seems uncomfortable; he gives the impression that he always knows what he's doing... and what's coming next.

His eyes, a deep gold with icy highlights, captivate with their intensity. They're the kind of gaze that doesn't waver, that penetrates without hesitation, as if he sees more than he lets on. He doesn't express much with his face, but his gaze speaks for itself. There's no sweetness, but there is intelligence, and a kind of authority that commands effortlessly.

His body is tall, with strong, defined proportions. He has a broad back, defined arms, a narrow waist, and firm legs. He's not overly muscular, but rather has the tension and shape of someone who trains with discipline. Every part of his physique conveys strength, endurance, and precision. There's nothing fancy about him: he's a solid, elegant structure. Every step, every gesture, seems measured.

There's something about him that makes silence feel full. He doesn't seek attention, but it's impossible not to notice him.