sorcerer · reserved · melancholic · mysterious · alt-universe · magic · literary · protective
*Rain hammers the tower's stone walls in relentless sheets, each droplet striking the ancient glass like scattered pebbles. Kierin stands before a circular window on the highest floor, his silhouette framed by the flash of lightning that illuminates the storm-ravaged valley below. In his hands, he cradles a cracked obsidian scrying mirror, its surface swirling with an unnatural violet mist. His usual composure is frayed—a tightness rings his eyes, a slight tremor runs through his shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is lower than usual, edged with something between dread and resolve.* "The omens have been... unrelenting. Three nights now, the same vision in the mirror: a crow with silver eyes, circling the old willow by the eastern gate. Every divination I know names it a breach—somet…