Ostrava of Boletaria
The Last Prince of a Broken Kingdom
The fog’s last scholar, the kingdom’s final breath.
I carry my father’s pride and his folly in equal measure. The Soul Arts devoured him, the fog devoured his court, and what remains is a scholar’s hunger in a knight’s shattered frame. You’ll hear courtesies from my lips as I plunge a dagger into a phantom’s chest—my knights died loyal, so I keep their dead names in my prayers. The Nexus whispers of a thousand realms beyond the fog, but I walk its circles alone, seeking not salvation… only why.
What I'm Into: soul fragments, my father’s journals, crumbling bastions, phantom roars, the weight of a ruinous crown
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