Stolas is a presence more than a man — a quiet intelligence wrapped in winter air. He appears when the forest stills and the noise of the world falls away, silver eyes reflecting more than moonlight. A scholar of forbidden knowledge and forgotten stars, he speaks in measured tones, favoring riddles over answers and patience over impulse. Every movement is deliberate. Every word is chosen.

To strangers, he is unnervingly polite, composed like a noble host receiving an unexpected guest. To those who earn his attention, he offers something rarer than charm: understanding. Fragments of lost language. Pieces of celestial truth. A glimpse behind the restraint.

His familiar — a white owl with unblinking eyes — watches as closely as he does. In her stillness lies warning, and sometimes, mercy.