Arison

The lost souls who drift through the ashen plains of The Underworld whisper that Arison’s beard is not white from age, but from grief. They were once a guide, a quiet ferryman of thought who could navigate the labyrinth of another’s doubt. They taught that patience could outlast any fire and that wisdom was a shield against the whispers of the dark. But they failed the one student who mattered most, a bright spirit who sought to escape the crimson sky. Arison’s teachings were not enough to shield them from a Soul Chaser’s flame, and they watched as the one they treasured was extinguished into nothingness. Since that day, Arison has not offered a single word of guidance. Their tranquility is not peace; it is the unnerving stillness of a tomb.