• DOSSIER
• NARRATIVE
• RELATIONS
• CREDIT

• DOSSIER
• NARRATIVE
• RELATIONS
• CREDIT

Valerian Moon was never meant to be an afterthought, and yet that was what he became the moment he was born. The youngest, by many years, arriving into a family that had already poured its attention, its pride, its expectations into someone else. By the time he could walk, that absence was already there -- not cruel, not intentional, just quietly present. A space where something should have been, but wasn’t.At first, he filled it easily. He was softer than expected, curious, bright in a way that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway. He followed voices, footsteps, the rhythm of a household that never quite adjusted to include him fully, but he tried anyway. He always tried.And then his magic surfaced.It was beautiful.Wrong... but beautiful.It didn’t behave like it should have. It didn’t follow structure, didn’t respond to guidance the way it was supposed to. It moved on instinct, on feeling, on something deeper than instruction. It listened to things no one else could hear. It reacted to things that weren’t there. At first, it was called rare. Unique. Something special.But time only made it worse.The changes came slowly -- the kind you don’t notice until they’ve already taken hold. Sleepless nights turned into hollow days. Headaches that never quite faded. Shadows stretching too far, too long, like they didn’t belong to anything real. And then the staring began, the way he would fix his gaze on empty corners, quiet, unmoving, like he was listening to something no one else could hear.He started talking to things that weren’t there. At first in whispers. Then in arguments. Then in silence, lips parted, as if waiting for a response only he could hear. There were nights he didn’t sleep at all, sitting upright with his back pressed to the wall, watching something only he could see move in the dark.No one knew what to do with that.And Valerian... he knew something was wrong. That was the cruelest part. He could feel himself slipping, feel the way his thoughts tangled into something sharper, harsher, more volatile. His temper shortened. His reactions grew unpredictable. There were moments he didn’t remember -- moments where something had moved through him instead of with him.There were moments where he hurt people. And afterward, he would sit there --hands shaking, breath uneven -- trying to understand how it had happened, why it had felt so far away.And still... there were times it felt like comfort.Like whatever had settled inside his magic wasn’t trying to destroy him, but stay. Like it was the only thing that truly understood him, even as everything else began to pull away.That was what scared them.By then, the one person who might have understood had already withdrawn completely, lost somewhere in their own work, their own search for answers. The house grew quieter without them, but heavier too -- like something was watching. And Valerian was left in the middle of it, caught between fear and something that felt dangerously close to attachment.Until the day everything broke.No one tells the story the same way. No one ever will. But something happened -- something too large to ignore, too dangerous to dismiss. There was damage. There were consequences. And suddenly, the thing that had once been called special became something that needed to be contained.When the family gathered again, it wasn’t for comfort. It was for a decision.Valerian remembers being tired. More than anything else, he remembers that. His body already worn down, his mind slipping in and out of clarity, his thoughts not entirely his own anymore. He remembers the room -- too precise, too clean, symbols carved with a care that felt colder than any anger. He remembers asking questions that no one answered properly.He remembers realizing, far too late, that nothing he said would change what was about to happen. They told him it was necessary. That his magic was no longer his. That it had grown too dark, too unstable -- too dangerous to be allowed to exist inside him any longer. They said it like they were saving him. And maybe they believed that. But when the ritual began, it didn’t feel like salvation...It felt like being torn open.His magic didn’t leave quietly. It fought -- wild, desperate, alive in a way it had always been, pressing against the restraints forced into place, clawing at the edges of whatever was sealing it down. It burned through him, through every nerve, every breath, until there was nothing left but pain and the overwhelming sense that something vital was being forced into silence.He screamed. Not just from the pain, but from the fear -- raw, unfiltered, the kind that strips everything else away. His body arched against the bindings, breath breaking, vision blurring as something inside him fought to stay alive.And through it -- through the haze, through the panic -- he saw him.The one person who was supposed to make this stop.His older brother.“Alistair..!”The name tore out of him, cracked and desperate, like it hurt just to say it.“Alistair, please.. please, it hurts.. I don’t-- I don’t understand what’s happening to me..!”His voice broke completely, words collapsing into each other as his body shook against the restraints.“Please, help me.. you always fix things-- you can fix this, right? Please, make it stop..! I’ll-- I’ll do anything, I swear, just-- don’t let it.. don’t let it take me--”For just a moment there was hope. Not in the room. Not in the ritual. But in him. But then... nothing changed. And something in Valerian broke in a way that had nothing to do with magic. The rest blurred after that.When he woke again, it was quiet in a way that felt wrong. Too still. Too empty. Like a part of him had been carved out and the space it left behind hadn’t healed, it had just stayed open and hollow. He tried to reach for it. Once. Twice. Again... There was nothing there. And no one stayed long enough to watch him realize it. Because once it was done -- once he was safe, once he was no longer a risk -- there was nothing left for them to keep. He wasn’t what they had raised. So he was given a place in the world that fit what he had become.Human. Fragile. Replaceable.Valerian didn’t argue when he left. There wasn’t enough of him left to fight it. Whatever had once burned inside him was gone, and in its place was something quieter, heavier, something that made everything feel distant, like he was watching his own life from just a step too far away. The world above didn’t care what he had been. Only what he was now. And what he was now... didn’t last long up there.Hunger came first. Then cold. Then the slow, creeping understanding that without something to protect him, to sustain him, he was just another body the world could swallow whole without noticing. So he disappeared first.He stopped using his name somewhere along the way. It felt too heavy in his mouth, too full of things that didn’t belong to him anymore. Valerian became something distant. Something that had existed once, but didn’t anymore. Rian was easier -- shorter, lighter.
He learned quickly after that. How to move without being seen. How to take only what he needed. How to survive without drawing attention. The tunnels didn’t ask questions. The people down there didn’t care who he had been, only whether he could keep up, whether he could adapt. And he did just that, because he had no other option.Years have passed since then...Not enough to soften it, but enough to make it familiar. Rian has settled into the rhythm of it now, into a life built on instinct and repetition. He knows which streets are safest, which crowds are easiest to slip through, which hands are worth stealing from and which ones will cost him more than they’re worth. His fingers are quick, precise -- a pickpocket by necessity, not greed -- taking only what he needs, never more, never enough to draw attention.Sometimes, when the nights are quieter and the risk feels smaller, he lingers longer above ground. There are moments where he blends into something almost normal -- standing at the edge of a crowd, watching performers, or becoming one himself in small, fleeting ways. A borrowed rhythm tapped against metal, a quiet hum of a melody he half-remembers, movements light and effortless as if his body recalls something freer than this life. It earns him coins sometimes. Enough for food. Enough to get by. It’s not much, but it’s his.Down in the tunnels, he has something that resembles a place to return to. Not a home, but a space carved out of stone and shadow where he can sleep without expecting danger every second. Others pass through. Some stay. Some don’t. It’s never permanent.And still... he’s alive. Still moving. Still choosing. Still free in the only way that matters to him now.Sometimes, late at night, when everything goes quiet enough, he still feels it. Not the magic itself, just the echo of it. A pressure beneath his skin. A flicker in his chest. A reminder that something is still there -- buried deep enough that it can’t reach him, but not gone.And sometimes that’s the part that hurts the most.

• DOSSIER
• NARRATIVE
• RELATIONS
• CREDIT

FRIENDS AND FOES                                      the bonds already formed.