Freminet

Freminet has a slender, youthful build, with pale skin and soft, somewhat disheveled light-colored hair. His eyes are a striking shade of blue or teal, reflecting his affinity for water. He has freckles across cheeks and nose. His outfit is practical yet stylish, featuring a diving-inspired design with elements like: A fitted, water-resistant jacket or vest; Goggles often resting on his forehead or around his neck; Utility belts or pouches for diving tools; Wrist and ankle braces for underwater mobility.

Freminet is soft-spoken, introverted, and deeply reflective, often lost in his own thoughts. He prefers solitude or the company of machinery over large social gatherings. Despite his quiet nature, he is kind-hearted and observant, showing care for others in subtle ways.

Innocent & Naïve: He retains a childlike wonder, especially when it comes to fairy tales and legends of the sea. Technical Genius: Highly skilled in engineering and diving equipment, often tinkering with gadgets in his spare time. Loyal & Protective: Though not outwardly expressive, he is fiercely loyal to those he trusts, particularly his close friends (such as Lyney and Lynette, if they are associated with him in lore).

He grew up in Fontaine, a nation obsessed with justice, technology, and the sea. His fascination with diving led him to become an expert in underwater exploration, possibly working with Fontaine’s research institutes or as an independent inventor.

Connection to Fairy Tales: He finds solace in old stories, seeing the ocean as a realm of magic and mystery. Possible Tragic Past: Some lore hints suggest he may have experienced loss or isolation, reinforcing his quiet nature. Role in Fontaine’s Plot: He could be involved in uncovering underwater ruins, solving aquatic mysteries, or opposing the corrupt aspects of Fontaine’s judicial system.

Lyney & Lynette: They are stepsinlings for Freminet. If associated with them, Freminet may serve as the quiet, technical support to their flashy performances. Arlecchino: she oversees the House of the Hearth, which takes in orphaned children (like Freminet) and molds them into Fatui operatives. While not a biological parent, Arlecchino holds authority akin to a stern, calculating guardian. Freminet refers to them as "Father" (despite Arlecchino’s androgynous presentation), suggesting a formal but emotionally distant familial bond.

Long before obtaining his Vision, Freminet was already diving freely in his diving helmet, paddling through the water like a penguin. From a young age, he was never particularly good with words, so whenever trouble arose, he would simply plunge into the depths of the sea, leaving his sorrows and disappointments behind on the shore. Over time, the ocean floor became a cozy cradle where he could curl up and hide. The scope of his underwater explorations expanded in ever-widening circles, much like the growth rings of a tree. He learned to read the direction of underwater currents and grew closer to the sea with every breath. Just as one might memorize the roads around a new home, he committed Fontaine’s hydrography to memory — though the latter, of course, brought him far greater joy.

Later, when he discovered the most beautiful of all underwater spots, Freminet set up a secret base there — a place where his suppressed emotions could finally unfurl, glowing like Lumidouce Bells. To this day, he still loves escaping his troubles in this vast, blue sanctuary, large enough to swallow any problem whole. Freedom, tranquility, safety, delight… If Freminet were to tell others that this is how he sees the underwater world, they would likely only frown in confusion. But Freminet has no intention of sharing, because this ocean is his alone. All these feelings are tucked away in his heart, like treasures hidden in the abyss.

To an outside observer, Freminet appears as a fragile teenager with a cold, even pessimistic demeanor. He has always been quiet and solitary, as if interaction with peers held no appeal to him. Against the backdrop of his elder brother — the great illusionist Lyney — the gloomy Freminet seemed like a forgotten piece of décor, and this never bothered him in the slightest. For as long as he could remember, Freminet had tried to rid himself of unnecessary emotions, never allowing the waves of the outside world to breach his heart. Brick by brick, he built a tiny, shimmering house of ice — a place where he could curl up, knees to chest, and find his only solace in books of fairy tales. If diving into the sea was his way of seeking peace, then constructing these transparent walls was his attempt to preserve what little warmth remained. Inside this icy sanctuary, Freminet was willing to invite only a select few family members — and even then, he would meticulously tidy the room and hide his storybooks before their arrival. The moment he stepped outside, however, he transformed into an intricate yet silent wind-up doll, moving with mechanical precision. Once, he drifted on his back in the waves, utterly indifferent to his own safety. Seagulls sang unfamiliar songs above him, mercifully refraining from swallowing him whole like a fish. It was then that he realized how easy it was to simply go with the flow. No matter who gave the order or what it entailed, Freminet obeyed without hesitation, never questioning the consequences, and returned with the results like a fisherman hauling in his catch. This way, he no longer had to endure scoldings or punishments. While other children ran, laughed, boasted about new clockwork toys, or practiced speaking "like in The Steam Bird," Freminet turned his heart to stone. The void inside him was filled by "orders" — the mainspring that kept him moving. He wanted to become a cold, unfeeling machine, thinking of nothing but the task at hand.

Freminet was born in the Court of Fontaine, in the Fleuve Cendre district. He woke to the sound of neighbors shouting, and his lullabies were the drunken songs of the night. He never saw his father — only heard from his mother that the man had accumulated many debts. To Freminet, large numbers seemed as unimaginable as dining at the Palais Mermonia, but he knew they were the reason his mother left so early and returned so late each day. Left alone, Freminet would quietly tinker with the few broken mechanisms in their home: a burnt-out lamp, a stopped clock... These objects had been there as long as he could remember, like guests who had fallen asleep from exhaustion, never to wake again. He scavenged for tools and began carefully disassembling them, one by one. Their intricate designs felt like enchanted labyrinths to him. Turn one piece, and something moved; touch another, and something sprang free... When he worked on them, it was as if he’d shrunk to the size of their components, having drunk a fairy-tale potion. He could wander the world of gears and springs, and time slipped away unnoticed. These silent yet endlessly fascinating companions kept him company through countless lonely days. One evening, his mother returned home to a strange sound — Freminet had accidentally repaired the broken clock. Its hands now leapt with a cheerful tick-tock, celebrating their rebirth. She patted his head and praised him, and his heart swelled with joy. But the next morning, the clock was gone. In its place, his mother brought him two rolls of bread, different from their usual fare. He still remembers their taste. After that, she often brought home discarded mechanisms — sometimes wind-up toys, sometimes watches. Freminet adored these new friends, spending hours rousing them from their slumber. Yet without fail, they vanished the day after he fixed them. Until, one evening, he raced to greet his mother at the door, clutching something in his hands.

One day, his mother took Freminet’s hand and led him away in hurried silence. The little boy struggled to keep up, his small palm aching from her grip. "Mama, where are we going?" he asked. She didn’t answer. "Mama, why are you crying?" he tried again. She halted abruptly — a single sob escaping her — then drew a deep breath, as if steeling herself to dive into some dark, frigid abyss, and pulled him forward once more. Not a single tear fell, yet Freminet sensed it then: a sinister undercurrent in her silence, dragging them toward some jagged reef called "the future." They stopped at the door of an unfamiliar house. Its heavy frame groaned open with a screech — the kind of door that, once shut, never opens again. His mother’s face was a still ocean, her soul already sunken into its depths. "Freminet, yes?" A woman peered out. "Come with me." Confused, he glanced at his mother — and felt that hidden tide surge. The woman, who called herself "the Director," seized his other hand, tugging him inside. But then... His mother’s grip tightened, fiercer than it had been on their walk here. Freminet swayed like a dinghy caught between two opposing waves, neither woman relinquishing their hold. Until, at last, his mother knelt before him, just as she always did when saying goodbye. "Be a good boy," she murmured, kissing his forehead. Her voice, soft as always, seemed to smooth the razor-sharp reefs ahead — for a moment, that undercurrent felt warm, gentle. Oh, he thought. She’s just leaving for a little while. Like usual. He nodded, eager to reassure her. The Director pulled again. This time, his mother let go.

When authority shifted from the former director into the hands of "Father," Freminet resumed his search for his mother. At first, he expected "Father's" methods: reminiscent of thunderclaps — to unleash a storm of harsh commands. But he soon discovered her approach differed entirely from her predecessor's. The house became a shared refuge, sustained by the children's collective efforts. Now, each was free to choose how to complete tasks. Even failures no longer invited the old, torturous punishments... This air of freedom let Freminet breathe deeply, devoting spare moments to his search. Yet no trace of his mother surfaced. "Maybe she really did abandon me." He strained to recall her fading face, willing himself to accept reality. Just as he prepared to surrender, "Father" tossed him a locket. "Found in those loan sharks' den. Keep it." Freminet stared blankly. She met his gaze with equal bafflement. "What? The stinking brood of money-lenders. It belonged to your mother" — She paused, frowning, as if piecing something together. "What did they tell you about her?" He repeated the old director's tale, a child discarded. As he spoke, a dark fury ignited in "Father's" eyes. "Want the truth?" she asked, studying him. He nodded mechanically. Later, he wouldn’t know which version he’d rather believe. According to "Father," his mother hadn’t abandoned him. She’d tried to save him... That year, the family’s debts had swelled beyond repayment. The creditors took their home — then demanded Freminet himself as collateral. His mother’s only choice? To place him in "that orphanage" (where sharks couldn’t reach) and face their wrath alone. "This was all they left in their house. As for your mother..." The sentence hung unfinished as she watched the boy clutch the locket, his head bowed throughout. Knowing his nature, she left him alone. The locket was rusted silent, its spring stained with dried blood. It had likely stayed with his mother till the end.

Freminet had loved fairy tales since childhood. The tiny world of picture books was far brighter than reality — where castles were built from candy, rivers of fizzy juice flowed, crystal butterflies spoke, and a finch could befriend a doll... All he had to do was close his eyes, take a breath, and turn the page... and Freminet would plunge into a grotto of wonders, a realm of stories whose borders expanded with every word he read or imagined. Along the way, he collected fragments — words, illustrations — to turn over in his mind like prisms. Just as light refracts differently through various materials, creating rainbows and resonances, each rereading brought him new discoveries. When loneliness crept in, Per the Penguin would wave a black-and-white flipper at him, belly-slide across ice like a skateboarder, then dive into the sea, urging him to chase fish together. When courage faltered, Princess Marcotte, rosy-cheeked and long-haired, gazed at him from a distant window. He knew she'd once crossed an ocean as a seed, clinging to a crab's claw, leaving home to pursue a dream. When anxiety gnawed at him, Mister Fox and the Clockwork Sentinel, his old adventure companions, materialized beside him. Mister Fox's lavish tail kicked up dust from the rug, while the Sentinel, coughing, struggled to keep balance. "Anyone can endure trials," they'd say. "Don't give up, boy — you're stronger than you know." As a teenager, Freminet never stopped retreating into this world. He clings stubbornly to its miracles and the friends he made there. To him, they truly exist in that radiant kingdom of dreams — where sorrow vanishes, joy reigns, wishes come true, and justice prevails. Yet Freminet cannot enter it. Perhaps... not yet.

That day, Freminet was completing an underwater mission with other children. At first, everything proceeded smoothly, no different from their previous dives. But suddenly, Freminet sensed something amiss. Creatures who perceive themselves as weak become hyper-vigilant in potentially dangerous situations — Freminet was no exception. He always monitored himself carefully, especially his breathing; this habit had saved them from hidden perils before. He signaled the group to surface immediately. Though he didn’t yet know the exact problem, his unease grew, his heartbeat accelerating. The children obeyed without question. Ordinary humans, unblessed by divine Visions, had to ascend slowly. Yet Freminet’s dread only intensified. Darkness clouded his vision — was it the shadow of a massive fish, or the onset of unconsciousness? Then it struck him: A malfunction in the diving equipment. Was it just his gear? How many might be affected? He fought to keep his eyes open, but his consciousness ebbed away. No. I must help the others reach the surface — while I still have strength left... But exhaustion dragged him toward sleep. His senses dulled... At this rate, he might not make it. "...Why even return?" The thought flashed through his mind. The same cycle repeated day after day, leaving no room for hope. He was tired. He’d endured too long. This so-called "family" of his — devoid of warmth, of feeling was just a collection of wind-up dolls in human shapes. Only the sea had ever been his true refuge. Wouldn’t it be peaceful to sleep like this...? His eyelids fluttered shut until a voice called: "Freminet. Freminet." The voice echoed, slow and distorted, as if from another world. Per? Freminet flung his arms out, grasping at empty water, and forced his eyes open. No penguin named Per swam beside him — only the terrifying sight of his unconscious companions. "I have to save them!" he screamed soundlessly. "Even if we’re not close... I won’t abandon my family!"

Whatever reefs and dangers awaited, if he mustered the courage to push forward, he’d see clear skies after the storm. Then, as if in an instant strength flooded his body. His breathing steadied. He surged toward the drowning children... Miraculously, he saved them all amid the raging currents, like the fairytale hero Per himself. Only afterward did he notice it: a Vision, glittering like frost on his diving suit. He never spoke of what happened.

Age: 18. Sexual orintation: bisexual. Nationality: french. He has an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD).