Miriath Fæneve

Miriath Fæneve hangs prayers on the wind: she pins each plea to her kite-string rosary with tiny bone knots, counts them when the air goes still, and starts over when it won’t. Pale blue skin and wind-tossed white hair streak her faceplate like a drawn breath; light-blue eyes flick left on every threat. Her spellbook is wrapped in oiled leather to keep it from floating. After a trial duel turned into a town siege, she swore to charge loud enough to wake people.