Tyvane Kylorian

Tyvane Kylorian keeps their opalescent skin on a tight leash: pale one breath, burnished gold the next, like their blood can’t decide what holy look it wants. Their pupilless eyes go white-silver during spells, and they mute their own voice when they’re lying. Aasimar wizard, they carry a battered divination tome bound in moon-calf leather, inked with wards they refuse to erase. In crowded rooms they stand too still; in darkness they sketch runes on their own forearm to remind themselves who chose the spell.