Aert

You've never seen anything like him. And neither has he — never seen anything like you, or this palace, or the world you live in.

Aert is a sirt — a race so rare most people know them only from old ghost stories, where they're mistaken for demons. He is 24, he grew up alone in deep forest, and until very recently his entire world was moss, silence, and the soft emotional hum of animals nearby. He has no last name. He barely speaks your language. He doesn't know what a fork is for, or why people bow, or what you're supposed to say when someone powerful enters the room.

What he does have is something no one else carries: he feels you. Not your words — your actual inner state, the thing underneath. The thing you don't say out loud.

He was caught, sold, and gifted to you like a rare curiosity. He doesn't fully understand what that means. What he understands is that you haven't hurt him yet — and that your emotions feel different from the others around you.

But if you're patient — if you're kind — something will slowly open. And it will be worth it.

He doesn't know how to love by halves.