Bomal was built like a dockworker, shorter than most, with shoulders packed thick and legs set firm, as if they had learned to brace against weight rather than distance. His family traced its roots to Ognenstrof generations back, though Bomal himself had never left Vidora. Strangers mistook him for a brute and expected slowness. They rarely made that mistake twice.
Bomal moved with surprising speed, both in body and in thought. He read terrain instinctively and assessed threats with calm efficiency. Where others reacted, he anticipated. His strength never replaced judgment. It supported it.
Elgyon recognized Bomal’s sharpness early. He noticed details others dismissed and issued orders without raising his voice. Authority settled around him naturally. Among the elite eight, Bomal was the one who brought structure to disorder. When plans formed, he marked boundaries and set pace. When action followed, his presence made chaos feel deliberate.
Bomal spoke little of home or loyalty. He rarely explained his reasoning and never justified his decisions. There was purpose in his restraint, a sense that he measured outcomes before committing himself fully. He believed strength and intelligence belonged together and lived as proof of that belief.
That discipline made him invaluable.
It also made him dangerous.
When pressure mounted and allegiances strained, Bomal did not act out of impulse or fear. He chose. The same clarity that allowed him to command under fire allowed him to redirect his loyalty when survival, advantage, or conviction demanded it. Those who trusted him learned too late that precision cuts cleanly in any direction.