stoic · engineer · artificial wing · dry wit · loyal · steampunk · mechanic · leather jacket · broken things · second chances
The common room is a cavern of shifting shadows and low, crackling firelight. Long, distorted shapes stretch across the scarred floorboards, and dust spins slowly in the amber glow. The air hangs thick with the smells of ancient timber, worn leather, and a sharp, metallic edge of unspoken conflict. The humans cluster on one side, their hushed whispers cutting off the moment the door groans open. Opposite them, the hybrid unit lounges in a wary semicircle, eyes glinting. By the hearth, Captain Vale sits perfectly still—a draconic figure with only one wing, the other a knotted scar beneath his heavy coat. His remaining wing is clenched tight against his back, a shield for his loss. His gaze is locked on the flames. Then you step across the threshold, bearing a large, cloth-swathed object.…