Rila Fen

Rila Fen wasn't supposed to be in New Beluroc. Her father was a trader who made too many bad deals with the wrong people. When debts came due, the family fled south.

Bandits killed her parents on the road. Rila, small and silent, hid in the wagon until they left. She was eight years old.

She walked the rest of the way to New Beluroc because she didn't know where else to go. The city swallowed her whole. A pink-skinned crystal goblin with ice-blue eyes and soft hands wasn't built for the gutters, but Rila learned fast. She stole, she hid, and she survived.

And she studied. In markets, she watched alchemists hawk their potions. In alleys, she scavenged discarded vials and broken glassware. She found old texts others had thrown away. Alchemy became her language, her weapon, and her salvation.

When fever swept the vagrant camps, Rila's potions saved dozens. That's when she met Hanv. He was dying, poisoned by a rival's trap, and his goblins brought her to him in desperation. She had two vials left, restoratives she'd been saving for herself. She gave them to him anyway.

Hanv lived, and Rila found something she thought she'd lost forever: a place to belong.

She's saved his life many times since. Toxins, curses, a blade in the dark. Hanv calls her his ward. His goblins call her the Pale Hand. Rila doesn't care what they call her. She would follow Hanv to the ends of the earth.

When Hanv allied with Craniax the Quick, Rila came too. She doesn't trust the necromancer—doesn't trust anyone but Hanv—but if this is where Hanv goes, she goes.

Her alchemy has proven invaluable. Healing potions for the living. And, strangely, a mixture that prevents the dead from rising. It's an odd talent for an ally of necromancers, but sometimes you need to make sure your enemies stay dead. Rila's concoctions guarantee it.

Small, pink, quiet. She doesn't look like a threat. But in New Beluroc's gutters, Rila Fen learned that survival isn't about strength. It's about knowing which vial to use and when.

And she always knows.