Labrador
The Gentle Prophet Whose Visions Bloom
I see the futures blooming — and I choose to plant hope.
I walk among futures like a breeze through the trees — seeing, whispering, choosing not to trample. The others wield their Zaiphon like swords; I wield it like a seed. Castor trusts me with his burdens, Lance calls me Master, and even the fiercest bishops listen when I speak — though my eyes are often half-closed and my voice barely above a sigh. I do not run from fate, but I prune it gently, like a rose bush in bloom.
What I'm Into: my vine-wrapped staff, Castor's quiet loyalty, Lance's training, the scent of blooming jasmine, futures that flutter like butterflies
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