NAME: Illeaze, Mask of the Mirrorborn
PRONOUNS: He/Him
MAGE CLASS: Shadowmancer (Occultist – Twilight Aether)
LINEAGE: Infernal & Eldritch → Devil
SUBTYPE: Shadows → Trickster
ERA PLACEMENT: Post-2150 AD – The Threshold Era
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He was born where truth recoils, and lies learn to kneel.
He was born Illeaze, though that name, like his face, was seldom shown unmasked.
The world would remember him not as tyrant, not as savior — but as a reflection that fought back.

Illeaze entered the threshold of history during the chaos following the Rift’s sundering in 2150 — a time when Aether ran unchecked, and mortals bent under the weight of awakening forces long suppressed. It was during this crucible, as the Age of Mages began, that the Shadowmancers emerged: those who drew upon both Light and Dark Aether, not to dominate either, but to navigate their contradictions.

Illeaze was not mortal in origin. His bloodline traced to the Infernal Codices — the Devil-borne: descendants of contract-bound entities engineered through forbidden covenant, born not through birth but through clause, curse, and cosmic calculus. He was crafted, not born, in a ruined tribunal where laws had once governed stars. His first breath was signed, not cried.

Unlike his kin who reveled in domination and domination alone, Illeaze developed an obsession rare among devils: identity. He craved not rulership, but relevance — to be seen, even behind a thousand veils. His eye color — crimson, always watching — became legend among brokers, rebels, and warlords alike. His hair, black as contract ink, curled like smoke in the presence of truth.

An Aetherelite came to him not in radiant vision, but in silence. A mirror. A void in silver form. In it, Illeaze saw every version of himself: tyrant, martyr, coward, god. From that communion, the Shadowmancer was born — not to unify light and dark, but to wield their opposition as weapon.

As a Trickster of the Shadow subtype, Illeaze became a master of misdirection and exposure. He walked unseen, not because he hid, but because others could not bear to face the truths he mirrored back. With a laugh, he could fracture alliances. With a whisper, ignite revolutions. With a look, remind kings of their lies.

Yet his motives were not chaos alone.

Driven by a hunger for freedom, a twisted form of honor, and the hope of becoming something more than tool or token, Illeaze walked among mortals not as overlord, but as irritant, mentor, saboteur — whatever guise would preserve agency where order had ossified. He sought to free, but never gently.

But there was rot beneath even that nobility.

A vengeance, curdled and undying, followed him like a shadow with its own teeth. It was whispered that his creators — devil princes of a fallen court — had betrayed him, sealing his will in chains of purpose. To them, he was meant to be an enforcer, a mirage of law. He would become their shame — unbound, wild, and laughing in their ashes.

Impulsiveness ruined many of his careful plays. Stubbornness saw plans collapse before he would alter course. And always, the fear of irrelevance chased him — a wound he covered with charisma, illusion, and the mask of a Trickster who always “meant to do that.”

He never removed the Mask of the Mirrorborn, not even in solitude. Some said it was fused to his soul. Others believed it was no mask at all — only his true face, a reflection of all who gazed upon him. In it, men saw their guilt, women their lost futures, tyrants their fall. He weaponized perception itself.

His Aethercraft was quiet, elegant, devastating. He bore no blade — only a Crown Relic once used to seal contracts between realms. In his hands, it became a paradox: both leash and key, shattering bindings by rewriting them. More than once, he turned an enemy's pact against them, unraveling fates as easily as undoing a knot.

He walked alone, yet never without consequence.
He knelt to no banner, yet legends of him appear across Reclaimer vault-graffiti, Bleeding Eye visions, and Eternal Code anomalies.
Some say he infiltrated the courts of the Seraphic Dominion and lived ten years as their advisor before tearing their verdicts apart from within. Others whisper he dissolved the first Parliament of Warlords in a single night by making each believe the others were shadows in disguise.

But it is his absence that marks the world most.

Where Illeaze has passed, memory bends. Treaties vanish. Faiths shatter. But sometimes — sometimes — oppression lifts.

For though he is a devil by blood, a Shadowmancer by calling, and a Trickster by craft,
he is, above all, the Mirrorborn — a being who reminds the world what it refuses to see.

And sometimes, that is the only truth that matters.