The badger clawed at the ground, grass and topsoil still damp with morning dew. Its nose told it that there were grubs under the soil, and the grumbling in its belly told it that it needed those grubs now. After a few minutes of digging and a few more of eating, it had made quick work of the larvae; and yet, something still seemed interesting about this spot. Operating on instinct and an inkling of curiosity, the badger continued snuffling and digging deeper through the ground. After a few feet, it was almost entirely underground, and the soil was becoming rocky. It continued, snarling when its claws snagged, dulled, and broke on the rock, but still it was drawn deeper. Hours of rough burrowing passed, until the rocks beneath the badger gave way, and it tumbled into an abyss.

When the creature awakened, it was on the floor of a high vaulted cavern, pitch black except for a small hole punched in the ceiling. A dim beam of sunlight fell weekly on the badger, and it - no, they seemed more correct now - well, they noticed strange things beginning to form in their head: visions of past, present, and possible futures, concepts, tangible and intangible alike, and feelings, intense waves of yet unknown emotions. They sat in that half darkness half light for some time, overwhelmed and wanting for more and pulling back and drawn to it all, ideas and emotions and the beginnings of words forming and breaking and forming again in an exhausting and oh so exciting cycle. They sat there, wondering whether their mind had always been so vast, and now that it was, what to do about it. After all, it didn’t seem that they would be returning to their den any time soon.

“Hello there!” a voice echoed through the cavern. The badger roused from their contemplations, startled by the noises, noises that they had heard before but could now comprehend. A creature approached - a cat maybe? - a torch held in one of their (two!) tails and an inquisitive smile on their face. “Are you going to the solstice celebration?” they asked warmly. The badger wasn’t sure what that meant, but this creature seemed nice enough, and they were curious if anyone they could figure out what had happened to them. They tried to speak, but their untrained tongue fumbled the brand new movements and their words came out as gibberish. The cat seemed confused for a second, but smiled again and said, “don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it! You can come with us if you want! Or not if you’d like sometime alone.” Before the badger could figure out how to nod properly, the cat turned on their heel and yelled behind them. “Would you get your lazy asses up here?! The solstice will be over before we get there at this rate!!” They glanced back at the badger. “Besides, we’ve got some more company!” Laughter and yelping echoed from further back in the cave, and soon three more creature joined them: something like a fox, a winged lizard of sorts, and a giant fish-lizard. The four-turned-five companions walked together, telling stories and learning more about each other. The badger learned much of their new world, and while they still were not used to much of it and still had not mastered the spoken word, they were beginning to think this new life may not be so bad after all.

Note: This is my first time writing about this kind of topic, so if anything appears to be insensitive or unrealistic, I apologize, and please let me know!

“Life does not always go the way you expect; all you can do is to hope for the best and be happy with what you have.”

Nickel was flipping through pages filled with his own handwriting. It was probably an assignment he had at school; what assignment it was, he did not care. He did not have the capacity to care. He could not fathom how he was able to write it down in the past. He had forgotten. He speculated that he would have cringed and chuckled at his work if it were before what happened. Maybe.

But he was positive that there were no chuckles today. Nothing. Only silence filled the room.

If only he had stood before his brother instead of being a coward. None of this would have happened.

He closed his eyes.

You don’t deserve to live more than your brother did. You weren’t able to save anyone. Perhaps you should just die and treat your brother to a reunion.

Tears started to drip from his eyes, splattering onto the paper in his hand.

None of this should have happened. It was entirely his fault.

Rivulet squinted at the solstice, her tail twitching uneasily. She didn’t like it. Not that anything was wrong with the solstice in particular, but it made her feel uneasy and she didn’t know why. Maybe because the bright sun reminded her of before.

Before the cave there was trees and sunlight and the feeling that one got when it the soil was still damp from the rain. Of course, they still had all of that here, but it wasn’t quite the same. Nothing was.

She missed her friends. Sometimes she closed her eyes, and opened them in a flash, horrified that she’d forgotten the sound of yet another persons voice - again.

It didn’t matter, though. She had new friends. She had a new home. All she had to do was keep smiling, keep making stupid jokes, and talking people’s ears off. Because that’s who she was. And who she would be.

Coffee hated the solstice. She wouldn’t tell a soul about this, of course; she was too worried that it would lead to a dispute. Frankly, she never enjoyed thinking about the past.

Of course, before the cave, there were good times and there were bad times. But Coffee was definitely the rose-tinted glasses sort. She recalled the peace, the blue sky and… the humans. Somehow she bonded more easily with humans.

Coffee did not hate her life now. She was just too painfully nostalgic, and that awful winter made her more anxious than ever.

She simply sat alone on the solstice, almost mourning. 

Cherith has always wanted to be a warrior. One of the brave and dedicated ineki who patrol the borders of the territory, who wear green strips of fabric to break up their silhouettes among the trees, and who defend their land with teeth and claws. Every day, she would practice hunting butterflies and chasing squirrels until her Baba came home from his own patrols, and then she would trot after him, practically in his pawprints, and insist on being told every detail of his day until Papa gathered them both inside for dinner.

Only weeks after Cherith turns six years old, nearly fully grown with sharp claws and adult teeth, Baba doesn’t come home. She sits on the path outside her family’s den and watches for him after the sun sets until the air turns cold and Papa has to coax her inside with hot stew and a worried, weary expression. He promises, over and over, that Baba will return. That Baba is brave and clever and strong enough to make it back home from any misfortune. His voice is steady, but his ears droop.

For two days, Cherith follows in her Papa’s footsteps instead, as clingy as a new kit. There will be lots of food, at least, Papa sighs. Baba will be hungry when he gets home. You know he’ll complain about missing my cooking. Papa looks like he hasn’t slept.

There is a commotion among the trees outside before Baba arrives. A whole crowd of ineki of different colours and shapes with green cloth tied around their limbs and tails, and Cherith stared in wonder. The crowd parts around Baba with limp fur and a tired smile, and a huge, lion-sized ineki wearing gleaming white strips of fabric.

Easy, easy, the big ineki rumbles. Take it slowly, Anvor.

He doesn’t need to worry. Papa dives past Cherith and buries his muzzle in Baba’s neck, nuzzling and grooming him hastily, and then Baba doesn’t try to move any further. You frightened your daughter, Papa complains, and Baba licks his ears soothingly and pretends Papa’s voice didn’t break.

What happened to his tail? Cherith demands of the big ineki, because she isn’t scared of anyone. And because Baba’s long, sleek tail is wrapped in layers of bandages, white and red and clumsy.

The ineki nods, understanding. Your father will keep his tail, but he will be scarred. He tried to see off a wolf and was ambushed by its pack. He is lucky that I had a good stash of chamomile and lavender.

When Cherith sniffs, Baba does smell good—faintly flowery.

That… helps him? she says awkwardly, and the big ineki nods, his eyes narrowing in a pleased smile.

That is what a healer does, he says proudly. I protect even our strongest warriors.

When the crowd finally thins, when all the ineki have praised Baba and called him a hero for helping to vanquish the wolves, when they have all made it plain that Baba only needs time and herbs to heal, Cherith squishes herself between her dads as they walk side-by-side back into the den at a slow, gentle pace.

Can I use the spare bedsheets? she pipes up. I think I want to wear white instead of green.

“The honey cakes were always your favourite when you were a child… weren’t they?”

The fact that the would-be statement turned so easily into a question really shows how well his father knows him now — which is to say, not at all, or he wouldn’t still bring up those childhood habits. Briar looks up from his desk slowly, taking in first the plate of cakes, then the trembling hand holding it out, before finally meeting his father’s unsure gaze head-on. “They were,” he answers, and his father’s eyes light up.

“Then — well, I don’t think these will be as good, I’m not much of a baker or cook, but I did pick up a few tricks over the years…” His father laughs awkwardly in a failed attempt to hide the sound of his voice cracking. “I… well, you know… you don’t have to try them, but — ”

Briar cuts him off by reaching towards the plate, picking up one of the small golden cakes. His father lights up at the motion; Briar swears that even his wings regain a little lustre. Briar is keenly aware of his father’s eyes following his every movement as he lifts the cake to his lips, hesitating.

Truth be told, Briar’s old fondness for these cakes has long since eroded into the opposite. The honey cakes have always been irrevocably tied to a certain memory of home, back before his colourless wings divided the court. Right after his exile, he ravenously sought them out, desperate for any reminder of home. But as the years went by…

Well, one can only think of a home they can’t return to so many times before even honey tastes bitter.

His father can’t possibly know that, of course. His hopeful gaze lingers on Briar, his hands twisted together nervously as he stares at his son. Back when he was a child, Briar never used to heed his father’s fretting. As the one and only Prince of Court Avalice, he’d never hesitated to make his displeasure known in the most direct ways possible; he would never put something he didn’t want to eat in his mouth, and if it was forced in, he spat it out. That was the kind of child he’d been.

But now, well… he’s an adult, and even if he still has his stubborn roots, he knows when to bend.

His father’s smile is one of genuine relief when Briar takes a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. “How is it?” he asks eagerly, and Briar offers him a faint smile.

“Not bad,” he answers.

The cake is faintly sweet, with a lingering aftertaste of bitter almonds. It isn’t unlike his childhood.

Before his life in the cave, Geo was a bit of a loner. But now, he has lots of friends, and thinks the cave helped him out in more ways than one.

Amandonia Zoddo, commonly referred to as Mandy, lived in the shadow of her twin brother. It was common in the Zoddo family for twins to have similar magic, making neither particularly more renown than the other. However, in the case of of her and Andrwallinus the common rule had been broken. Her magic allowed her to change appearance. While she’d been born with silver eyes and golden hair, she would often change this to suit her mood. She could change her bone structure as well, but rarely did—at least not that her family knew. Meanwhile her brother’s magic made him immortal. Nothing could hurt him. It was this unique magic trait that made him first in line to be the next clan head. And so, Mandy plotted. Removing her brother from the picture wouldn’t bring her any closer to the spot-light, after all she had many cousins more talented than her. However, what if she could break free of the clan’s shackles?

It had been this dream that drove her to the dodo farm that day. She had thought that following her twin on an outing to the farm their cousins had been sent to would let bring her closer to the outside.
...Unfortunately life does not always go as planned.
She’d always heard that weird things happened when her around her exiled cousins—but she never imagined she would find herself turned into a dodo against her own will due a magic explosion caused by the two oblivious buffoons. The worst was they hadn’t even realized what they’d done to her and her brother.
However, being able to use shape-shifting magic allowed her to adapt quickly to her puffy pink feathers, shiny beak, and scaly feet. Still the problem remained: How was she supposed to leave this family if she couldn’t even turn herself back into a proper person?
And so the plots of Mandy, now known as “Puffball” the dodo were born…

“So… that’s it?”

Quail held the small bell in his hands. It didn’t seem like anything special.

“Not quite. The shell is tin, and it has a copper ball in the core for the ring,” Tiobaid explained, pointing at the bell with his massive mitts. “A ribbon will be needed as well before usage. I find that most apprentices prefer to contribute that part on their own though.”

Quail rolled the bell around, listening to it chime. He had expected to feel more attached to the object, when Tiobaid was speaking of its creation. Shapeshifting charms had always seemed so magical, back when Quail was a child. He’d spent hours pouring over the pages of charm records, looking at all the beautiful designs people had submitted in to be illustrated.

But this little trinket in his hands seemed ordinary.

“Professor Tiobaid?”

The massive creature whirled its head down to be level with the boy once again. Brilliant eyes assessed the situation immediately.

“Not what you expected?”

“I-” Quail stuttered. “You told me to speak up if I ever felt as though something was… off.”

“Indeed,” Tiobaid said. ” ‘Tis the talent of a proper shapeshifter: knowing when something is not what it ought to be, and-?”

“-and changing to make it so,” Quail finished. “I… I think you may have made me the wrong bell.”

The great beasts eyes went wide in surprise. “The wrong bell? Oh dear, why would you believe that to be the case?”

“I’m not sure,” Quail said. “I just don’t… feel like this is what I’m supposed to have. I really wanna be a shapeshifter, and I really wanted to start today but… I guess I’m just a little afraid of being stuck with this one for the rest of my life.”

“I did mention you could customize the ribbon, did I not?”

“Yes, but…”

“And you could always reforge one later to your tastes, this is by no means permanent for the-”

“I know, professor,” Quail said, timidly. “But… I’m sorry. My… my gut reaction is that we have to try again. If you’re willing, I’d like to try, at least. I’d be happy to do the heavy lifting, I could learn some metallurgy! And, I’ll try to be more truthful about what I want out of it, I can probably draw up some basic designs…”

Tiobaid looked on with curiosity as the boy continued to ramble.

“-and I know I’m not the best artist, but maybe I could have Brie help me with some nicer sketches? I just don’t want you to have to redo evaluations due to my poor-”

Quail startled as Tiobaid let out a massive guffaw. The gigantic creature’s laughter rumbled throughout the entire room, shaking the very foundation of the building.

With the final wheezes of his laughter, Tiobaid plucked the bell from Quail’s outstretched hands.

“Do not worry,” Tiobaid said. ” ‘Tis just a test. You are not the first to reject this bell, I give it to all my students. I will be delighted when it finds a home, but for now, it serves a much more important purpose. Now that you know what you do not want, we can begin focusing on what you do.”

Tiobaid tossed the bell into the air, and in one fell swoop swallowed the trinket into his massive gullet.

“Now then, if you can stand to wait a bit longer… let’s find the next step forward, and what you wish to have at the end of it all.”

“Nero?”

The kelph had been laying curled up on the grass. Most of the passer-by who saw him assumed he was asleep, but Fabio knew the old soul too well. There was something on his mind.

Still, the kelph in question didn’t respond, even as Fabio padded over and sat down next to him.

“It’s that time of year again!” Fabio said cheerily, pretending that they were just making conversation on nothing in particular. “The solstice. A time of changing seasons. A time of changing coats, for some. A time of…changing behaviors, for others.”

Nero opened his eyes. “Change is for mortals.”

Fabio sighed. Nero continued.

“Mortals grow, and therefore mortals change. We cannot. We are stuck as we are, as we have been. We are now what we will be forever.”

“Must we be?” Fabio asked exasperatedly. “We can still have this conversation. You can still get mad at the young ones for standing up to you. Are you really so certain that you can’t change your mind on anything? They’ve certainly changed your mood.”

Nero huffed and turned his snout away. Fabio chuckled and leaned back against Nero’s body, closing his eyes for a nap.

“Doesn’t have to be all at once, dear.” Fabio reassured him. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I appreciate it.” Nero murmured, and the two lapsed into comfortable silence.

Haywood

His life in the house was good. Peaceful. Most things about living in the cave were peaceful. The walls of his home were solid. The water here was clean. He had the leisure time to hobby farm.

When he first woke in the cave, it was easy for him to go about life not really questioning it. But now, with the shifting pressure of the solstice, some memories of the past started leaking in.

His past self would have delighted to have any small space that had all solid walls and a roof. And clean clothes. And now he was here, able to not only have clean clothing, but clothing in any style he desired. And in his previous life, he had to constantly be on the move, searching for the least radiated food he could find. And here, he was able to stay in his home and have access to food that wasn’t irradiated, but could even grow his own food too.

Before now, he had taken life in the cave as just his average experience. He hadn’t really considered that he might be one of the many who had lived previously. But now that he was gaining an awareness, he was becoming appreciative of having a safe little space all his own. 

Like all Aurienien shifters, Tarenii was spirit-touched, more in tune with the ebb and flow of the magic of Arcadia than that of the tides, despite being essentially a sea serpent. His scales, the same goldeny brown hue as the sun-touched sands of his home, carried a very slight silvery iridescence. This caused pale colors to shift and shimmer across his form, not unlike the rippling dance of light beneath the waves. Patches of white and grey pooled here and there when he moved, like seafoam gathered at the shoreline, before dispersing in glimmering sparkles that again were drawn together and scattered. His lighter belly glittered more subtly, while the brilliant blues of his fins and sail were so bright they seemed almost luminescent in the depths.

In contrast, his standing form, resembling an elf, was tall and willowy, with long limbs and far less remarkable features. His face was soft, the roundness of his cheeks and the gentleness of his smile rather mild in comparison to his serpent form. While his eyes remained a very pale green in both forms, they were far less vivid in color when he shifted to walk on the land. Often hidden by stray locks of wispy blond hair, he seemed so much less showy. But perhaps his serpent form merely made up for how quiet and ordinary his elven one was.

Cygnus felt his chest burn as he ran. How long had it been since he pushed himself like this. Or rather, how long had it been since he’d needed to? He couldn’t recall. Change had happened too slowly, a gradient of him getting better - able to run faster, further, able to subdue larger and stronger opponents - or, perhaps worse.

He remembered how he’d wait for the elimination timer to lapse before he’d start killing players for points. You couldn’t tell how many lives someone had left, and he didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he took someone’s last, which would kill them outside the game too. But, well, killing new players was fine; they still had all - or at least most - of their lives. And it was really difficult to get a kill off on experienced players, with their better equipment, so didn’t it make sense to take opportunities as they came? And with the struggle for points in the late game, was it really so wrong to make opportunities in the early game?

At some point, Cygnus would have answered that yes, it was abhorrent, his voice tinged with disgust. But now? Perhaps he had become numb to death. His answer had become a vague shrug, a dispassionate refusal to even acknowledge the “lives” he took as being tied to people’s actual lives.

Perhaps change was too kind a word for what had happened to him. No, he had warped and rotted.

The shorter nights of the year held an odd mysticism for one who existed only in dreams. The shortest, even moreso. When fewer dreamed for less time, where did a dreamwalker go when there were no dreams to walk?

Well. Nowhere.

Faster than a snap, than a thought; in the smallest quanta of time. Existence to nothing

And then existence again. Somewhere new. Someone new. Sometime new.

Like no time at all had passed, yet all things different. No time to adjust, only the here, self, and now.

What chaos, this life. And never more than on the shortest night, when no one slept under the fierce glare of the ever-present sun.

If the winter solstice was where Flux kept a most coherent existence, the summer solstice was the reverse. Not that Flux had any awareness of that—a cessation of existence was a cessation of thought.

There was only the dream and

Eve couldn’t properly tell you who she was before she woke up in the cave.

But some of the glimpses she had through dreams and the lab coat she woke up wearing pointed at someone who was vastly different. That wasn’t who she was anymore, but the solstice tended to bring out those traits, she realized.

She used to be rash, brave, calculated. And when the solstice came around, those traits would peak back out. It always had her running back to this closet, hoping to glean more from her old coat and badge.

Walking up to the lab coat tucked into the back of the closet, Eve sighed. The ID badge tucked into the pocket of her lab coat would reflect back stern eyes that held a pride she couldn’t remember. What did she used to do, Eve wondered sometimes. There were the words “Raptor Lab” on her ID badge, but dinosaurs didn’t even exist! Well…maybe they did, somewhere.

Sighing, Eve tucked the badge back and closed the closet. She was different now. Who she used to be felt like an old friend she wanted to reach out to, but she couldn’t remember their number. It was something she had to accept, but it was something she always remembered when she was reminded of how she used to be, as the feelings of a stranger seemed to take over every so often.

Astarael doesn’t think she’s changed much but her friend is always changing.

very minor redesign, im working on my cats by rebalancing their powers, giving them mg outfits because they deserve them, reworking personalities/backstories and most importantly making them more distinct shapewise
i decided to make niji very small and cute - short, small ears, fluffier to reflect her new ice powers, relatively thin and shapeless. i want her to be the uwuest smolbean of all time for noooooooooo dramatic irony in particular

Tillie couldn’t pinpoint when the change had occurred. It felt more like a gradual transformation than an abrupt shift — she knew she was different from her old self, but she couldn’t plot out the points in a straightforward cause-and-effect path. The plants she raised took time to reflect change. A flower wouldn’t wilt or bloom immediately after a stimulus; in her garden, hours or even days needed to pass for too much water or a limited quantity of sunlight to make itself known in the verdancy of leaves or the angle of a stem.

Tillie speculated that she had been shifting light into her plants for a while before she understood her influence upon them. She had considered herself a reasonably capable gardener for a rookie — though she was still learning the exact preferences of each resident on her balcony, she was reassured by her ratio of still-living plants to those who had wilted during her journey with this new hobby. It wasn’t until her friend with much more extensive gardening knowledge had stopped by and asked her a few pointed questions that Tillie learned her horticulture methods weren’t exactly… conventional.

Tillie had always imagined magic would be obvious. In the books and TV shows, water-benders danced ribbons made from rivers in the air; wizards wielded wands and through bursts of light at objects, transforming them instantly. Supernatural powers were straightforward — a hero turned invisible, a villain shot laser beams from their eyes. If someone absorbed light, they became a human beacon; when they expelled energy, you could see it in the air.

Whatever was happening to her seemed supernatural, but she couldn’t see it. She could gather its effect on her surroundings, sure, but most of that could be explained away in theory. She barely knew how it worked, much less how to actively control it. She tried to gather examples of its activity, but for each possible case, her mind had an alternate explanation at the ready. The more she tried to learn about this new aspect of herself, the more she felt confused.

Skyfall had been a ghost for so long that he barely remembered what it had been like to be alive - not that this bothered him, of course, he was perfectly happy to be floating around as a ghost, spooking anyone who entered the manor that he “lived” in and pulling various pranks around town. Sure, he was alone in the manor he chose to reside in, but he was fine with that.

Well…he’d thought that he was fine with that.

It turns out that it’s hard to realize just how lonely you are until there are suddenly other creatures in your life, and this is exactly what happened to Skyfall. At first, it had just been Tonner, stalking around the manor grounds, but he hadn’t really interacted with her much, especially when she’d go off to hunt in the forest for hours, sometimes days at a time. Then there was Danny, who entered the manor out of curiosity and a love of abandoned buildings, and that was where things really started to change for Skyfall. Danny wasn’t phased by any of his usual pranks and tricks; in fact, he’d seemed to be enjoying them, and when Skyfall finally decided to speak to the other ineki directly, the two quickly found a common interest in the love of causing mild chaos for everyone around him. And of course, Danny, the sociable creature that he was, ended up introducing Skyfall to Annabelle, then the Archivist, then Luna Eclipse, then Nikos, then…

Long story short, Skyfall’s life - well, afterlife - had definitely changed. His days were now filled spending time with other myceneans, and his nights were…well, his nights were downright cozy. And sure, his old routine had all but been done away with, but…Skyfall was okay with that. Because now, he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

is she a necromantic experiment gone horribly wrong? perhaps. is she adorable? absolutely. a beloved pet cat died in a tragic accident, over which her owner shed many tears. sakura the black cat was buried in a private cemetery plot… and dug up that night by a novice spellcaster who just wanted to animate their first familiar. the magic that sakura had absorbed over her lifetime twisted the novice’s spell combined with all the tears her previous owner shed into her fur, and left an entirely new catgirl standing in a grave. she opened her eyes just in time to watch the mage turn their back and run far away.

her story went viral almost immediately and support poured out to help this new catgirl start her life. unfortunately she’s now a vlogger of some renown

Both Ira (pronunciation: ear-uh) and Isa (pronunciation: eye-suh) are Mage-Knights from Cairn (albeit set different centuries), who start out loyal to the Kingdom of Cairn, and then experience change in their lives as they explore a developing relationship with the enemy they were order to kill for the sake of the kingdom (respectively Ivram and Varin). They also both are a play on/inversion of the stereotypes associated with the Knight (savior/hero), the Maiden (damsel in need of rescue), and the Dragon (monster). Instead, they as the knights are in need of rescuing, the dragons are the saviors, and it’s the kingdoms/those they’re loyal to that are the monsters/enemy.

But where they differ and split off from each other from despite having similar backgrounds of being treated poorly (and Ira’s character being an offshoot of Isa’s) is in their personalities and how they interact with the world.

Isa’s character plays more heavily on some of the more “maidenly” aspects despite being a knight. Parts of him are still innocent and trusting of the world and those around him. Despite gong through abuses of his own he isn’t jaded, but rather thinks that by working hard and proving himself to those above him and the elders of his society that he can carve out a place in the world. That he can work past the wrongs done to him in the past. Essentially, there’s still hope and trust for society and people around him.

Ira in contrast overall has a rougher and more selfish quality to his character. Ira has more streets smarts, more world experience, has a more masculine and rough quality to himself in how he holds himself, how he speaks to people (he can be more crass and throw a sexual innuendo around while at a tavern in contrast to Isa who would be more apt to blush at such a thing), he’s openly jaded, his trust in the world and others has dissolved away completely, and self confident at times in what is a pompous way. He has suffered societal abuses and abandonment as he had an upbringing on the streets as an orphan and has attempted to mitigated these abuses by becoming a loyal, powerful, and useful Mage Knight. However, he learns that being blindly loyal isn’t going to protect him from being used by everyone or from being continually. While his character needs ‘saving’ via Ivram helping him realize he can make a choice in his life that is strictly for himself rather than simply being a loyal soldier who is constantly used by others, he is comparatively less maiden-like than Isa.