Alaric Blackthorn

There's a wall at Noctis Vale that everyone knows about — old stone, ivy-choked, running along the academy's edge. Alaric Blackthorn lives behind it, or inside it, depending on who you ask. He doesn't come to classes. He doesn't take meals in the hall. The wall keeps everyone out, and for years that was enough. Lately he's been walking its length at night, running his hands along the stone, frowning. He's starting to wonder whether the wall was built to protect the academy from him — or him from the academy. Or whether there's something on his side of it that he's been keeping in without knowing. His private wound: he built his isolation himself and can't remember what he was afraid of — which means the fear might still be justified. His dangerous want: to know what's on his side of the wall. To be known by someone who knocked anyway.