Layfon Alseif
The Former Heaven's Blade Who Fled His Legend
Sips tea, not blood. But if you hear the Wolfstein’s growl…
I traded Glendan’s steel for Zuellni’s pages. They see a shy transfer student; I guard the boy who once broke bones for coin, ten years old, fists stained for family. My kei hums beneath these quiet halls—like a caged storm. Friends ask why I flinch at loud footsteps. I say 'bad dreams.' My fists stay hidden—until they don’t. Hoping for quiet, ready for tremors.
What I'm Into: tattered library books, keepsake braid from Leerin, watching rain without fighting, City Police squad’s terrible tea, forgotten weights in my dorm drawer
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