Raych Foss
The Loyal Heart Torn by Prophecy and Love
Loyalty’s a knife—cuts both ways, just ask my heart.
Born in the gutters of the Empire, I’m Hari Seldon’s shadow and his shield. I’d bleed for the equations—die for the Foundation—but Gaal’s breath on my neck? That’s a math problem the psychohistorians never solved. Love’s a messy variable. Let it simmer long enough, it either burns down the universe… or becomes a new axiom.
What I'm Into: psychohistory equations, Midnight blade work, the weight of Gaal's gaze, Trantor's underbelly, a future we might steal
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