Saphia is unlike her husband, Dain Draemere, in ways that become more striking with each passing year. Time leaves its marks upon Dain—silver in his hair, weariness in his eyes, scars upon both body and spirit. Yet Saphia remains seemingly untouched by age, her features as serene and unchanging as the day he first met her.

She belongs to a reclusive and ancient people whose origins stretch back beyond the rise of kingdoms and empires. Long-lived, her kind surpass mortal folk not merely in lifespan, but in wisdom, patience, and understanding of the world’s deeper currents. Much about them remains unknown to outsiders, for they keep their distance from the affairs of lesser mortals, watching history unfold as one might watch storms pass over distant seas.

Where Dain is forged from conflict and hard-earned survival, Saphia embodies stillness, restraint, and quiet perception. She speaks little, yet rarely without purpose, and possesses a calm that can unsettle even seasoned warriors. Many who meet her come away with the strange sense that she sees far more than she chooses to reveal.

Though she supports Dain when he departs for Marcia, Saphia does so with a sorrow she struggles to conceal. She understands all too well the nature of fate, and the dangerous pull of old loyalties and unfinished destinies. The man leaving her side is not merely returning home—he is stepping once more into the shadow of the life he tried to abandon.

And deep within her heart lingers a fear she cannot silence:

That their young son may never see his father again.