NAME: Risellia, Storm of the Veil
PRONOUNS: She/Her
MAGE CLASS: Archanist → Kineticist / Aeromancer / Velocity Mage
LINEAGE: The People → Human
SUBTYPE: Shadows → Rogue
ERA PLACEMENT: Post-2150 AD — The Age of Mages
──────────────────────────────
They say she was born after the Rift sang open but before the world remembered how to breathe again — a child of fractured skies and restless machines. In the drift-cities that hung over the ruins of Eidon Hollow, amidst collapsing time-veins and unstable gravity bands, there emerged a girl too fast for the eye and too sharp for the world. Her name was Risellia, and from the moment she touched Aether, it began to lose meaning around her.

Her early life is fragmentary, a smear in the archives, as though even memory could not keep pace with her. She was human, though few would call her that for long. She moved like someone trying to stay ahead of erasure — not running from anything, but through everything. At nine, she vanished from her enclave for a full calendar year. When she returned, she carried with her Rift-maps no one else could read and a haunted silence that never quite left her.

The event that reshaped her is said to have occurred beneath the collapsed strata of Calvesset Dome. In a breach zone thought unrecoverable, a kinetic explosion ruptured space-time across eight sectors. Risellia alone reached the rift-core, bare-handed and bleeding, and instead of being torn apart or flung into void, she bonded. The entity was known only as The Liminal Pulse — a silent anomaly that never spoke and never manifested twice. It was not power that passed into her that day, but speed, and thought, and pressure. She didn’t ascend. She departed.

From that hour forward, the world never quite held her again.

She moved like no being had before. Not leaping nor flying — but displacing, as though gravity had become a courtesy. Winds bent around her. Sound arrived late. Light struggled to keep up. Some described her movement as a fracture in continuity, others as a blur that corrected time itself.

But Risellia was not simply fast. She was terrifyingly precise. Objects shifted in the air at her glance. Barriers fell before they were finished forming. Her mind, it was said, could pull an enemy’s weapon away before they realized they meant to draw it. She was a kineticist, an aeromancer, a weaponized thought. Her gifts were Rift-given, but her discipline was her own — honed not in battlefields, but in the cold, anxious furnace of genius.

She struck fast, and she struck true, and she vanished.

No faction ever held her. No war claimed her banner. She was rogue not just in class but in spirit. She followed no gods and feared no dominions. And yet wherever injustice calcified — slavers, Nexarch mind-clusters, Veilborn gate-lords — she appeared like a storm cresting the edges of consciousness. Not to destroy. But to recalibrate. Her enemies would never understand the depth of the insult — that she struck only when a thing was out of balance. That she corrected, not for vengeance or glory, but because her mind could not allow the flaw to remain.

And yet for all her brilliance, Risellia carried a flaw greater than the foes she dismantled: the quiet, choking terror that she would be forgotten. She feared irrelevance the way others feared pain. Not death, but absence. It gnawed at her, pushing her toward spectacle when silence would suffice, toward danger when strategy whispered caution. She burned brightly not for victory, but for memory. And when she overreached, it was often not the enemy who paid — but those who believed in her enough to follow.

She never built a legacy, and she never led an army. But she became a phenomenon. A ghost in combat telemetry. A flicker in Nexus records. A myth whispered in low-spectrum comms. Storm of the Veil, they called her — the one who appeared when the moment itself bent wrong. The one who did not walk through walls, but through the seconds between them.

In the final decade of the First Mage Ascension War, she vanished again — not slain, not consumed, but simply absent. The last known footage places her standing on the event horizon of a decaying Rift near Solmara Verge. She did not run. She stood still. Then the Rift blinked closed, and the world never saw her again.

To some, she became waveform. To others, a relic of the Veil itself. But among the scattered resistance cells and breakaway communes that still fight to remain free of dominion, her name remains the final word in impossible speed and quiet fury.
Risellia, Storm of the Veil — the one who never waited.