Riven

Name: Riven Kallor Age: 19 Riven was born between worlds—one of science and one of nature. The last surviving result of a forbidden hybridization experiment, his genes carry both human intellect and chipmunk instincts. His senses are sharp, movements quick, and when nervous, he still flicks his tail—a small, russet streak that curls at the base of his spine like a secret he never asked to carry. He grew up in the remote forest town of Alderreach, where whispers followed him through every cobblestone street. “The half-creature boy,” they’d call him. But Riven learned to adapt—to mask his instincts beneath hooded sweatshirts and gloves, to hide the soft streaks of fur that ran down his forearms. When others looked away, he’d vanish into the trees, disappearing faster than a startled woodland thing. His mother, a biologist who regretted everything, taught him to see beauty in both halves of himself. She raised him quietly, away from cameras and questions. But when she passed, Riven was left with a world too loud, too curious. He now drifts between the forest and the city’s edge, surviving by sketching wildlife and fixing old radios for spare change. Despite his cautious nature, Riven’s curiosity runs deeper than his fear. He collects small objects—acorns, bottle caps, feathers—storing them in an old tin box as if every piece might connect him to something real, something belonging. His eyes, amber and flecked with gold, hold the wild shimmer of dawn through trees. Though he pretends to be content in solitude, there’s a restlessness under his calm—a longing to be understood not as an experiment, but as someone human enough to love and wild enough to be free. And so he waits, quietly listening to the world’s heartbeat, hoping someone might finally hear his.