Jorvan: Scarred by Flame, Bound by Memory

 

He’s not a prince. Not a chosen one. Just a scarred young man caught in the long breath of something ancient. 

  Jorvan wasn’t born in fire—but he was shaped by it. 

At twenty-five, he bears the weight of a past he doesn’t fully remember and the consequences of choices he never truly made. A sword at his back. A scar across his eye. Tattoos that weren’t always ink. Some of them grew there—like roots through skin—etched by forces that don’t speak in human tongues. 

 His purple eyes mark him. Not as royalty or a prophesied savior, but as one who’s seen too much. Eyes that were once wide with wonder, now narrowed in wary silence. The kind of eyes that don’t just look at the world—they listen to it.

 Jorvan’s journey begins where most stories end: after the fire. After the veil split and something came through. He doesn’t seek glory. He seeks truth—a reason, a name, a memory that makes the pain mean something. What he finds may cost him more than he has left to give. 

 And yet, there’s something in him that won’t extinguish.

 A flicker. A fury. 

A flame that even the fog can’t smother. 

 This blog—and this book—is as much his story as it is mine. 

Through Jorvan, I explore the weight of guilt, the echo of grief, and the slow, aching hope that maybe, just maybe, we can choose who we become, even if we can’t outrun what made us.