Background:
Born in the bleak mists of the Shadowfell, Cyriac grew up knowing only the half-light between life and death. The Shadar-Kai around him lived with a quiet melancholy, their souls tethered loosely to the world. Yet even among them, Cyriac was different.

From his earliest memories, there was always something. A presence just beyond the edge of sight. Sometimes it whispered in the hush between breaths, sometimes it watched through mirrors and still water. It never spoke clearly, but its nearness pressed on him like a second heartbeat.

Fear became familiarity, and familiarity bred curiosity. He learned to fight young, wielding blades that sang through the dim air where he lived. When he was old enough to wander beyond the hollow villages, he took to the wild places of the Shadowfell, learning the land’s twisted reflections: How to track, how to survive, how to disappear. The path of a ranger came naturally.

But on one fateful journey across the border between worlds, Cyriac stumbled into a battle not his own. Whether bandits, beasts, or something darker, he never truly remembered. The memory is fractured, fogged by something else. As his blood soaked into the ground, the presence he had felt all his life finally spoke.

It offered a bargain: “Live, and forget.”

He accepted.

When Cyriac awoke, his wounds were gone, but so were his memories. Only fragments remained: the sound of steel, the ache of cold, the name Cyriac echoing faintly in his mind. The rest was a blank canvas painted in shadows.

Wandering without direction, he crossed paths with Flynn and Asami, travelers chasing the echoes of the dead. They found him lost and disoriented, a lone figure in tattered armor with eyes that seemed to look past the world itself. Taking him for another lost soul, or perhaps someone connected to the restless dead they sought.

With little else to cling to, Cyriac joined them. Though he remembers nothing of who he once was, the shadows still stir when danger nears. Sometimes, he dreams of a voice calling from the dark, promising that one day, the rest will return.

Whether that promise is a blessing or a curse, he has yet to learn.