Among the Nissri—creatures so often known for their mischief, noise, and restless energy—Kaylun is an enigma. Where others dart and chatter, he lingers in silence. His dark, brooding eyes and quiet manner give him the air of a melancholy spirit, yet those who draw near soon learn that the weight he carries is not sorrow, but thought. He is a dreamer, a philosopher, a listener in a people rarely known for stillness.

Other Nissri tease him for his solitude. While they dance, mock, and play their tricks on travelers, Kaylun often sits apart, watching the play of light through the canopy as though searching for answers in every shifting shadow. Yet though he seems aloof, he is the first to notice when another is hurting. A child with scraped knees, a companion with sorrow in their heart, even a lost wanderer left frightened by the antics of his kin—Kaylun is the one who steps forward, offering a steady hand or a path back to safety.

He has little interest in pranks, but accepts being their victim with quiet patience, wearing his kin’s mischief like a cloak he cannot shed. For this, some dismiss him as humorless, yet others sense the truth: Kaylun feels more deeply than most. He is not blind to the laughter of the Nissri, but he sees too the tears that follow once the laughter fades.

Unlike Yarael, whose silver tongue draws him into markets and councils, Kaylun’s gift is softer: the willingness to sit in silence beside the grieving, or to walk a frightened traveler back to the road without asking for thanks. His wisdom is not the kind of scholars, but of one who listens long and speaks little, and whose words, when finally offered, often strike true.

For the Nissri, Kaylun is both familiar and strange—one of them, yet apart, like a shadow that chooses not to vanish. For outsiders, he is proof that Thalorien’s tricksters are not all alike: behind the chaos there are hearts that care, and in the quietest of them, perhaps the deepest truths.