NAME: Hobi, Sage of Aether Drift
PRONOUNS: She/Her
MAGE CLASS: None (Rogue – Aetherborne Trickery)
LINEAGE: The People → Faerie
SUBTYPE: Shadows → Rogue
ERA PLACEMENT: Post-2150 AD — The Ascendant Age
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In the aftermath of the Riftfall, when the Radiant Veil first tore and time itself began to slip in threads, there emerged a lineage of fae untouched by the Courts of Old. They were not born of glamour nor bound by seasonal pacts, but called into being by the echoes of lost thought, by the stuttering pulses of displaced aether — their wings spun from uncertainty, their minds tuned to the ticking edges of what had been and what might still become.

Among them rose one remembered above all:

Hobi, Sage of Aether Drift.

A faerie, yes — but not the kind sung of in pre-Rift idylls. Hobi bore no crown of dew nor danced in fields of endless twilight. Her beauty was sharpened by cunning, and her laughter hid the weight of secrets older than mortal cities. She had white skin like sunbleached parchment, and hair the green of living sigils, always shifting with aetheric residue. Her eyes shimmered with intelligence, but not warmth — they reflected the kind of curiosity that disassembled everything it loved to understand it better.

Rogue by nature, sage by obsession — she hunted patterns, not coin. Her gifts were rare even among her kind: she could drift through time’s folds for seconds at a time, manipulate telekinetic currents, and—when truly pressed—ascend into flight so rapid she became a blur of scattered light. But it was her mind that terrified those who knew her. Hobi could read meaning in the angle of a shadow, predict decisions three breaths before they happened, and twist probability like a wire.

Yet for all her brilliance, she was burdened. Greed, not for wealth but for knowledge, gnawed at her soul. Fear of becoming forgotten drove her to inscribe her name on vaults, archives, and even minds. She would leave messages not just in stone, but in the thoughts of those she passed — quiet compulsions to remember her, to speak of the green-eyed sage who passed between seconds.

She never stayed long in one place. Her impulsiveness burned bridges before they were built. Her arrogance alienated even those who wished to help her. And her bluntness was infamous — many a warlord or high scribe was shattered not by her blades, but by her truths. Still, when she appeared, problems vanished, patterns reformed, and riddles untangled themselves in her wake.

The Orders never managed to catalog her. The Archanists debated for decades whether she was Vessel-touched or Rift-born. And the Shadowguild still denies she ever walked their halls — though every lockbox she passed through was mysteriously unsealed.

They say she once rewound a Vault Keeper’s heartbeat by three seconds so he could die with a clear conscience.
They say she left her wings behind in aether just to see what walking felt like.
They say her final words to the Archivist-General were, “You’ll forget me in four hundred and nine days. That’s long enough.”

Whether she now lives in the folds of thought, or drifts between rifts unseen, none can say.

But in the places where time folds and memory glitters like broken glass,
the whisper remains:

Hobi, Sage of Aether Drift —
mind-born, motion-wrought, and never quite here.