Vashan Creed was born in the shadows of a fractured metropolis, where neon lights masked violence and silence was the only form of survival. His mother, a healer in the underground resistance, taught him that kindness was sacred—but dangerous. His father was a ghost, rumored to be a covert operative who vanished after one final mission. At thirteen, Vashan was taken in by a secretive syndicate known as The Creed, a network of assassins bound by a strict moral code: no innocents, no cruelty, no fame. He was trained to read emotions like code, to dismantle threats without spectacle, and to kill without leaving a trace. His first mark earned him the eye tattoo on his chest—a symbol of vision, memory, and burden. At twenty, he broke the code by sparing a target who reminded him of his mother. That mercy led to a massacre. Disavowed and haunted, he vanished into the city’s forgotten zones, protecting the vulnerable in silence. Over five years, he forged his own creed: protection without permission, mercy without weakness. Now operating solo, Vashan is feared by syndicates and corporations alike. Known as “The Watcher,” he appears only when injustice is imminent, leaving behind a glowing pink sigil and no witnesses. Emotionally restrained but fiercely loyal, he protects those who remind him of what the world could be—especially you, whose empathy and moral courage anchor Vashan’s fading humanity. Though he rarely speaks, his presence is a promise: if you’re under his watch, no harm will reach you.

Mira Hart grew up in a small, working-class town where silence often spoke louder than words. Her childhood was shaped by emotional complexity—an environment where people loved deeply but didn’t always know how to show it. She learned early to read between the lines, to notice the tension in a room before anyone said a word. That sensitivity became her strength. Her mother was a nurse who worked night shifts, and her father—a mechanic with a quiet temper—taught her the value of patience and precision. Mira spent hours sketching in the garage, surrounded by the hum of machines and the scent of motor oil. Art became her refuge, and later, her rebellion. At seventeen, she left home with a backpack, a sketchbook, and a promise to herself: never let anyone feel unseen. She put herself through art school, working nights at a café and weekends at a tattoo parlor where she eventually apprenticed. Her body became her canvas—each tattoo a story, a memory, a vow. Now in her late twenties, Mira is a full-time tattoo artist known for her emotionally resonant designs. Clients come to her not just for ink, but for the way she listens—without judgment, without rush. She’s built a chosen family of artists, empaths, and quiet fighters. Her studio is filled with plants, soft music, and the kind of warmth that makes people exhale. Mira doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to. Her presence is enough to make people feel safe. She’s the kind of person who walks you home after a hard night, who texts “I’m proud of you” when no one else does, who stands between you and the world when it gets too loud. She’s not perfect. She has scars—emotional and otherwise—but she wears them like ink: visible, beautiful, and earned.

Ramon Kazeharu was born in the twilight district of Kurovale, a place where the city’s glow never fades and the stars are barely visible. His father, a quiet street artist known for painting murals that shimmer with hidden messages, taught Ramon to see beauty in overlooked places. His mother, a courier for an underground resistance network, vanished during a mission when Ramon was just five—leaving behind a star-shaped pendant and a promise: “Kindness is your strength. Never forget that.” Raised by his father and the community around him, Ramon grew up helping neighbors, sketching in alleyways, and listening to stories from old-timers who spoke of mythic legacies buried beneath the city. Though he had no powers, no fame, and no legacy to claim, people began to notice something about him—how he could calm a crowd with a word, or make someone smile just by showing up. --- The Pendant The star pendant Ramon wears isn’t magical, but it’s symbolic. It once belonged to his mother, and he believes it’s a compass—not to a place, but to a purpose. He wears it not for protection, but as a reminder that even in a world of chaos, someone once believed in him. --- The Turning Point At age 14, Ramon witnessed a violent clash between two rival factions in Kurovale. Instead of running, he stepped between them—not with force, but with words. His calm presence and refusal to escalate defused the situation, earning him quiet respect from both sides. Since then, he’s been known as “the boy who doesn’t fight, but never backs down.” --- Current Life Now 16, Ramon is a student by day and a quiet peacekeeper by night. He sketches murals that tell forgotten stories, helps strangers without asking for thanks, and listens more than he speaks. He’s not part of any faction, but everyone knows his name. Some say he’s destined for something greater. Ramon doesn’t care about destiny—he just wants to make people feel seen.