Reinier - AFK Journey

Art by Alexlion_art on Twitter.

Long ago, in the time when the first stars burned bright and the earth was still young, there was a man named Reinier who was more myth than mortal. He wasn’t born like ordinary folk, they say, but shaped from the whisper of a perfect breeze and the reflection of a flawless lake. His face, they claim, could make poets weep—sharp and symmetrical, with high cheekbones and a jawline so precise it seemed chiseled by a master sculptor. Yet, there was an uncanny stillness about him, as though every movement was measured, every breath accounted for.

But it wasn’t malice that drove him; it was purpose. Reinier believed the world was meant to be beautiful, orderly—a masterpiece marred by the chaos of life. He traveled from village to village, leaving behind whispers of wonder and unease. In the wake of his passing, broken fences stood straight, cracked walls were mended, and even the wheatfields grew in perfect, concentric circles.

Yet Reinier himself was a lonely figure, always apart from those he encountered. Children were drawn to him, fascinated by his calm presence, but their parents would pull them away, wary of the man who seemed too perfect to be real. He spoke softly when he spoke at all, his voice calm and measured, like the sound of distant rain. And though he listened kindly, he always looked at people too closely, as if searching for something out of place.

They say Reinier has no home and no need for one. He sleeps under starry skies, finding comfort in the symmetry of constellations. He never eats, never drinks, never stays too long. Some believe he’s cursed to wander forever, bound by his need to fix the world’s imperfections. Others think he’s a spirit in human form, sent by some forgotten god to restore balance.

But for all his beauty, Reinier was not flawless himself. Those who dared to meet his gaze claimed they saw something—a faint crack near his temple, just a shadow of imperfection. He hid it well, but not perfectly, and those who noticed it wondered if that’s why he could never stop his quest. A man chasing a perfect world, perhaps, because he could never quite perfect himself.

Even now, they say, he watches from the mir