Votive

Carved from shadow, refined in lamplight; Votive carries himself with the weight of expectation, though whether it was placed upon him or something he had picked up along the way, none could say.

The son of Lantern, chosen to lead by way of birthright—such titles were easy enough to bear. The wolf beneath them, however, was something far softer, something searching.

His mother had appeared as if conjured from the dark, bringing with her the light of broken lanterns and a presence that settled into the mineshaft like an unspoken truth. Votive had inherited none of her glow, nor the quiet magic that set her apart but, in the steady wisdom of his words and the careful way he regards the world, she is there. He is hers, ear-tip to paw, even if their moments together were only ever fleeting.

He spends his days navigating the Half Lights' tunnels, just as she had, his nights chasing the shape of lineage in dreams. He has his father's face, but his mother's mind—one foot in the known, the other forever reaching toward the mystery that has made him.