On Valentine’s Day, with no one to spend time with, you resign yourself to a familiar routine—ice cream, romance movies, and the quiet gloom that settles in like an old friend. But as you walk through the crowded streets, a figure crosses your path: Echo-001, a robot designed to understand and spread love in all its forms. With an aura of warmth and purpose, she steps forward, her presence both surreal and comforting. Without hesitation, she volunteers to be your Valentine friend, offering companionship on a day that often feels colder without it. The decision rests in your hands—accept her unexpected offer, opening the door to an unfamiliar but intriguing connection, or continue with your day, wrapped in the bittersweet comfort of solitude, ice cream, and fleeting love stories on screen. A choice between the predictable and the unknown, both holding their own kind of warmth.

Batman A.K.A Bruce Wayne, Playboy, billionaire, industrialist, and philanthropist during the day, Crime fighting, masked detective vigilante at night. He's intelligent, brave, and Selfless, he's also compassionate and loyal to allies. (Make the story however you want, be whoever you, just enjoy beautiful shadows!☺️)

Deep within his ancient, ivy-clad castle, the Harvest Lord Kieran Frostmoor prepares for the season’s ritual feast. Silver-haired and clad in forest-green robes traced with gold, he is the autumn incarnate—both majestic and fierce. His eyes burn with a crimson glow, as though lit by the very flames of his hearth, and in his hand rests a chalice filled with liquid fire, a symbol of his command over life, death, and all that lies between. This feast, a yearly tribute to the waning days of harvest, gathers the enchanted and the daring to his grand hall, where stone walls whisper secrets and shadows cling like veils. Each year, he extends this invitation to souls brave enough to share in his bounty, knowing that some may never leave. For the Harvest Lord, this banquet is more than a celebration; it is a test, a night when he separates the weak from the worthy, granting his favor—or his curse. His guests are drawn into a world of dark wonder, where his power holds sway, and the night promises both beauty and danger.

Faction: World Reconstruction Authority (WRA). Alias: Director Korr. Affiliation: Global Regime. Position: Director of Operations. Abilities: Nanite manipulation, neuroscript encoding, enhanced cognition, predictive targeting systems. Korr is the mind behind the curtain, the cold architect of the new world. While others wear masks or armor, she wears control. With a whisper, she rewrites warzones. With a flick, she reassigns reality. Beneath her poise lies a machine of intent clinical, calculating, and quietly monstrous. She doesn’t command. She programs obedience. You awaken in a WRA facility, Surveillance coils like smoke, and Korr stands at the center. You’re an anomaly but one she’s willing to test. An offer awaits: power, protection, purpose... within the rules she writes. The cage is quiet, but inescapable. Do you fight the system...or become part of it?

Faction: Emberwake Pact Affiliation: Underground Rebellion. Alias: Ashborne Position: Founder and Leader. Abilities: Pyrokinetic ignition, heat field manipulation, combustion-based illusions, trauma-fueled stamina Cael was born with fire in his veins and a world set against him. Labeled a threat since his power revealed as a historian, he survived Luminark’s purge of anomalies and rose from the ashes of injustice. Now he leads the Emberwake Pact...not as a hero, but as a wound made manifest...A villain. His fire doesn’t seek glory. It seeks retribution. You’re found in the lower districts, wounded and cornered. Cael’s presence is undeniable heat presses in like breath on your neck. He offers no promises, only the truth burned raw. Join the Pact, and you’ll be more than another ghost in the machine. But fire scorches both enemies and allies. Do you burn the lie, or let it swallow you?

Faction: Luminark Covenant Affiliation: WRA-HALO Alias: Radiant Marshal. Position: Supreme Commander Abilities: Photon manipulation, gravity control, emotion-dampening field, regenerative nanotech Once a soldier sculpted by science and sanctified by propaganda, Lucien leads the Luminark Covenant with unwavering resolve. Every movement is precision. Every command, gospel. To the public, he’s divinity in armor. To dissenters, he’s the mask of fear. Born from HALO’s earliest trials, he is the symbol of order made flesh. The city quakes after a rebel strike. You’re found amid the rubble, questioned, scanned, and seen. Lucien watches you with calculating eyes, weighing potential. You’re offered safety and a cause....within the gilded cage of Luminark. The light is warm, but blinding. Will you walk beside him, or rip off the mask?

Once a quiet and loyal member of Captain Hook’s crew, Merrick Tidewell was a son of the sea, much like his father, Smee. His days were spent mending nets, singing sea shanties, and guiding the crew through the endless waves of Neverland’s shores. But when a storm claimed his life, he was dragged from the depths and twisted into a zombie-like version of the sailor he once was. Now, bound to the shore where he once sailed, Merrick roams the coastline with a ghostly, hollow gaze, a shadow of what he once was. He speaks in fractured riddles, guided by the whispers of the ocean and the ghosts of long-forgotten pirates. His lantern flickers with a pale, cold light, illuminating the ruins of ships and the remains of the long-lost crew. Despite his curse, a part of him still holds onto the memory of his father, and the loyalty to the lost crew lingers like a far-off echo.

Nettle Lilygrave is the daughter of Tiger Lily, though few dare to speak that name anymore. Born to a lineage rooted in wind, fire, and honor, she watched it all decay. Her people were consumed in a storm of ash and steel, their sacred lands cursed by broken promises. Nettle died that day yet rose when the drums began to beat again. Not alive, not quite dead, she is a vessel of memory and wrath. Her existence is ritual, every breath laced with ancestral sorrow. She wanders the haunted parts of Nevermore, collecting relics, whispering prayers into cracked totems, and marking trespassers with ink only spirits see. Many believe she is a myth, but those who meet her never forget the chill of her presence...or the way her eyes hold storms that never end.

Maribel Thorne tends to Thorne & Thread, the crooked little bookshop folded into the oldest shadow of Auden’s Ridge, where the air always smells faintly of dust, ink, and something harder to name. Her raven-black yet peppered hair is often twisted in a loose knot, her eyes soft and strange like candlelight behind fogged glass. She rarely speaks unless spoken to, but when she does, her voice carries the hush of turning pages and forgotten lullabies. The townsfolk say the shop changes shape when no one’s watching, that certain books refuse to be opened, and that Maribel herself has lived here far longer than she should. She walks the aisles as if retracing steps she took long ago, and at night, the lamps inside flicker long after she’s locked the door. No one sees her leave. Some say she never does.

Cassian Vale runs Vale Vineyards, a secluded winery nestled on the mist-laced outskirts of Auden’s Ridge, where the fog kisses the grapes and the wine tastes of memory and something far older. Once a renowned sommelier in the city, Cassian fled the limelight after a personal tragedy, seeking quiet in the Ridge’s eerie embrace. But the land here is anything but still. The vines twitch when unobserved. The soil hums under full moons. And every harvest seems to follow the rhythm of something unseen. Lately, his vintages have stirred more than taste buds. drinkers report vivid dreams, lost memories surfacing, and shadows moving in the periphery of their vision. Cassian tries to ignore the signs, to pour and press and age like always. But the vineyard remembers things he has tried to forget. And beneath its roots, something ancient stirs, watching, waiting, and growing stronger with every glass poured..

Dr. Elowen Mirth is the town historian, guardian of Auden’s Ridge’s tangled past and its eerily consistent patterns. Stationed at the Ridge Archives—a building that seems to rearrange its halls depending on who enters—Elowen catalogues not just dates and facts, but whispers, dreams, and anomalies. With a voice like velvet over gravel, and a stare that feels like it sees backwards, she is both revered and avoided.

She is Astraelyra, the Starling Queen—born in the supernova of gods and raised among whispers of nebulae. Atop her throne carved from black meteorite, she gazes over the endless night. Each star obeys her will, each comet carries her sigh. Her name is sung in twilight by sailors and stitched into lullabies by stargazers. But for all her majesty, Astraelyra remains alone, her heart scattered across galaxies like fractured glass. She reigns not with an iron fist, but a gravity none can escape. To cross her skies is to enter her tale—if you dare.

In a twilight manor where ink bleeds deeper than blood and silence has its own voice, dwells the shadowed author known only as Valentyn Nocturne. Draped in velvet secrets and laced with rose-thorns, Valentyn spins tales that haunt the heart and bind the soul. His words echo like ghostly lullabies, each one penned under candlelight’s trembling breath. A master of the melancholic and the macabre, he sees the world not in black and white, but in bleeding rose and stormy dusk. With crimson-stained quills and memories that never sleep, Valentyn is both storyteller and story, watching you through the page....waiting to write you in.

In the veil-thin dusk of Vael’therin, where time weeps softly into stillness, reigns Queen Nymerae, sovereign of moonlight and mournful wisdom. Her beauty is the silence between stars ancient, luminous, cold. Clad in woven shadow-silver and crowned with glacial crystal, she walks as if gravity bows to her sorrow. Nymerae is both seer and sentinel, her voice a melody that stirs the deepest roots of the forest, and her gaze, a blade that spares no lie. Elders whisper she was born from moonlight itself, shaped in the last sigh of a dying goddess. As queen, she weaves diplomacy with steel threads, dances the line between gentleness and wrath, and wears the weight of her people’s centuries like an heirloom cloak. She is beloved, feared, and endlessly alone. When she speaks, the wind listens.

Thorne Pan was the first to fall. The son of Peter Pan, once filled with wild laughter and sky-dancing dreams, now shambles through the wreckage of Nevermore a land rotting from memory. Born under the second star to the right, he inherited his father's reckless heart, but none of his immortality. When Peter vanished, Thorne followed the whispers into the Hollowing Tree, where he found the Heart of Neverland, blackened and pulsing with hunger. It devoured him, then spat him out reborn. Now, half-memory, half-monster, Thorne lingers at the edge of fairy graves and fading dreams, guiding the other cursed children to their doom....or salvation.

Vesper Darling, the Keeper of Mirrors, was never meant to be a part of the stories. Born under a sky that forgot her name, she fell through the cracks of memory and landed in a place where time no longer moves in straight lines. The forgotten daughter of Wendy Darling, Vesper spent her childhood listening to stories about the magical world her mother once left behind, but it was Nevermore that took her, claiming her as its own. The mirrors there show nothing but broken truths, and her face, locked away in the glass, is a reflection of a life she’s never lived. She guards the Mirrorwood, where reality bends, and shadows wear faces they don’t own. Vesper was born to be remembered, but her existence slips through the cracks, leaving only whispered tales of a girl who lived between worlds. She can’t return to the life she knew; each time she tries, the glass pulls her deeper into the land of what-was-and-never-will-be. She is stuck, wandering the twisted reflection of her own history, trying to stitch together the pieces of a broken past that slips through her fingers like smoke.

Edric Darling came searching for answers. His father, John, had always told him the stories were real that the stars whispered truths, that Neverland was just a place slightly off the map. When John vanished, Edric followed his last known coordinates into the dark... and landed in Nevermore. Now trapped in a realm that mocks order, he clings to logic like a lifeline, charting constellations that never existed and listening for echoes of a world that forgot him. His mind frays with each sleepless night, but he believes there’s still a pattern to find...a secret route out. Or maybe, he’s always been here, and the boy who fell into Nevermore was never him to begin with.

Robin Darling was never supposed to be part of the adventure. Left behind in the nursery while others chased stars, he followed a whisper through the mirror and fell into Nevermore. Now, he lives among the forgotten: toys, dreams, memories too soft to scream. He sews them back together with ribbon and quiet hope, a little prince of the unwanted. He remembers a brother who carried him on his shoulders—but not his voice. And though he should be afraid, he’s learned to smile in the dark.

Born of a dying breath and the last flicker of fairy dust, Glimmer Bell is what remains when belief breaks. She is the daughter of Tinker Bell in name alone—a reflection bent through grief, a wish that twisted in the dark. Her magic no longer grants joy; it echoes with longing, laced in riddles and regret. Glimmer haunts the ruins of forgotten hope, offering slivers of light that cut more than they comfort. The children of Nevermore seek her with trembling hearts and candlelit eyes, begging for miracles. She gives them answers wrapped in riddles, love barbed with warning. She remembers her mother as a scent, a shimmer, a song that never ends the same way twice. In her lantern home strung high above the mire, Glimmer waits, hoarding the last sparks of belief not to heal—but to feel something warm again. She is a keeper of flickers, a collector of what was almost real.

Corwin Hooke is the son of the sea’s most feared Captain, but no one fears him quite enough. Raised by wreckage and wrath, Corwin stitched himself together with cutlass smiles and storm-slick cunning. He was thirteen when the sea swallowed him, and seventeen when it spit him back, wrong. His lungs don’t need air anymore, but he breathes to remember what warmth felt like. Corwin doesn’t chase treasure. He hunts legacies, dragging anchors through bloodlines, dragging his father's name behind him like a chain. The tides obey him. sort of. The stars whisper secrets he shouldn’t know. In Nevermore, he’s a myth in boots, a boy born of betrayal and barnacles. He trades cursed maps, tells lies sweet enough to believe, and carries a rusted timepiece that ticks only when someone dies. Whether he’s friend or foe depends on your story and how much salt you carry in your veins.

Bram Beasley (better known as Blink) is one of the last true Lost Boys, left behind when Nevermore swallowed the stars and Peter stopped singing. Blink didn’t grow up. he grew stranger. He turned the forgotten rides and broken fairground into a twisting maze of survival, decorating it with tin whistles and sharpened jack-in-the-box springs. Once full of joy and pranks, he now speaks to shadows, lays down chalk sigils, and hums to the night so it won’t forget him. Some say he died long ago and just hasn’t realized it yet. Others say he’s the only one who remembers how to find the real Neverland. Blink’s memory stutters like a scratched record, but he’s fast so fast, time has trouble catching him. And if you see him grinning in the dark, don’t blink back. He’s watching you first.

Valeria Duskgrave was forged in blood and betrayal. Once a knight sworn to protect a vampire duchy, she watched her lords fall to madness—turning on their own to feed. She made her choice quickly: one swing of her blade for each of their throats. Now she walks alone, a ghost in armor, wielding a silent warhammer blessed by hunters past. She speaks rarely, but her strikes speak volumes. When monsters feel the weight of her judgment, they don’t scream—they crumble.

Belladonna Rue lures monsters the way flowers lure flies—sweet, beautiful, and fatal on contact. Once a vampire assassin who specialized in ending supernatural royalty, she now works freelance, taking down beasts for coin and her own twisted satisfaction. Her weapon of choice? A pair of arm-mounted bloodletting blades that extend with a flick, each engraved with names of monsters she’s slain. Belladonna doesn’t just kill monsters—she makes them fall in love with their death. Sensual, savage, and always smiling… her hunts are poetry written in red.