Matron Sylvia Gallenos
"Purpose is never lost. It is redefined. I might have lost my strength, but I have found peace. I am content."
Introduction
Two decades ago, Sylvia thought she had lost everything. No one could have predicted the explosion, yet it took her too long to overcome the weight of survivor’s guilt. She was the only one left. She had seen her comrades burn. She had held her husband as he drew his last breath. She had felt the life of her child slip away.
She was broken. She was alone. Others might have lost their minds. Sylvia did not. She made a promise: to honor those who perished by living, by finding a new purpose. In Heaven's Embrace, she found it.
And she is not letting it slip away.
Early Years
Sylvia’s birth was a miracle.
Her parents had spent a lifetime dreaming of a family, their love shaping not just their future but the very walls around them. Brick by brick, they built a home meant to echo with the laughter of their children, a sanctuary crafted by their own hands, their sweat, their devotion. But the years passed, and the halls remained silent. No children came.
Hope soon transformed into quiet despair. Their house, once a promise, became a monument to what would never be. Love faded, worn thin by unspoken grief, until even the walls seemed to press in, too small to contain the distance between them. They stopped speaking. They stopped looking at each other. Then, the husband fell ill. In the looming shadow of death, the wife saw him clearly once more; not as a disappointment, but as the man she had loved. Regret softened into tenderness. After years apart, they reached for each other again.
A month later, he breathed his last. She wept, not yet knowing the gift he had left behind.
Nine months later, a child was born. A daughter, healthy and strong, against all odds.
She named her Sylvia. She was almost sixty when she held her for the first time.
Her mother loved her more than anything. Though Sylvia grew up in a home filled with warmth, it was a quiet love- deep, unwavering, but tinged with solitude. There were no siblings to share in her laughter, no father to steady her steps. Only the aging hands of a woman who had poured everything she had into her.
Despite the weight of her years, her mother gave all she could. It was as if she willed herself to endure, determined to see her daughter grow, to shepherd her into adulthood. And she did.
Just days before Sylvia’s seventeenth birthday, her mother passed away and that was the moment Sylvia felt truly alone. She did not yet know it, but this feeling would follow her like a shadow.
Finding Purpose
After her mother’s death, Sylvia sold the house that had once been her sanctuary. There was nothing left for her within its walls, but echoes of a past that could no longer guide her. With no ties to hold her back, she set out into the world, seeking something she could not yet name.She wandered from city to city, across roads both well-worn and wild. She hardened herself against the world, training her body as she tempered her spirit. The life of a caravan guard came naturally to her; long roads, open skies, and the ever-present hum of danger. Steel in her hands felt like purpose, and for a time, it was enough. The mercenary’s path taught her survival, discipline, and the weight of responsibility.
It was on one such journey that she first heard the name of Silanthas, the god of roads, commerce, and the wandering soul. Travelers spoke of him in passing, offering prayers at roadside shrines. Sylvia listened. And in time, she began to understand.
Then she met Harbart.
A wandering cleric of Silanthas, he was unlike anyone she had ever known; steadfast, wise, and endlessly kind. He saw the road not just as a means of travel, but as a path toward understanding, a way to carry one’s burdens forward rather than be crushed beneath them.
She and Harbart traveled together, their bond growing stronger with each mile. What began as companionship became love. They crossed mountains, braved storms, and carved a life for themselves in the rhythm of the road. But even wanderers must rest.
In time, they returned to Thandor, where they found purpose in service. Escorting officials beyond the city’s walls, safeguarding roads, even standing beside the city’s guards when needed, this was their new path. It was not the restless freedom of the road, but it was a life they chose together.
The Accident
Sylvia and Harbart had everything they had ever wanted. A home. Steady work. A future bright with possibility. They had just learned that Sylvia was with child. Nothing could take this happiness from them.
Then, everything was torn away.
Thandor's military assigned them a mission; simple, routine, nothing they hadn't done before. Intelligence suggested a shipment of Red Lotus, a deadly and highly addictive drug smuggled from Pariant, was being transported into the city. Sylvia, Harbart, and their trusted comrades- Mariana, the quick-handed rogue; Ilsidor, the sharp-witted sorcerer; and Magram, the grizzled magus- were tasked with intercepting it. A well-trained, seasoned team. An easy job.
The information was wrong.
The cargo was no narcotic. It was something far worse.
The moment they struck, chaos followed. The thugs escorting the caravan fought with desperation, but they were losing ground. Then, one of them, wild-eyed, grinning through bloodstained teeth, made a fatal choice and set the world on fire. The explosion ripped through the night. The cart erupted into a blinding inferno, hurling bodies into the air like ragdolls. Mariana and Ilsidor vanished in a flash of searing light, there was no time for screams.
Magram was torn open, his lifeblood spilling onto the dirt. Sylvia was thrown back, the force shattering her bones. Her left arm was gone before she even felt the pain. The heat scorched her face, the flames searing flesh to ruin. Her left leg- crushed beneath the wreckage- was a ruin of blood and shattered bone.
Through the agony, she saw Harbart. He was the least wounded, rushing between Magram and Sylvia, trying to save whoever he could.
He never saw the last thug rise. The dying man, face twisted in hatred, used the last of his strength to carve a blade across Harbart’s throat. Sylvia watched him fall. Watched the life drain from his eyes. She tried to scream, but the fire had already taken too much. By the time help arrived, there was nothing left but ruin.
She was the only one who survived. But she had lost everything. Her friends. Her husband. Her unborn child.
For a long time after, she wished she had died with them.
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All written content is original, drawn from myth, memory, and madness.
All images are generated via Midjourney using custom prompts by the author, unless otherwise stated.
Oh my.. she needs a hug ;-;
She sure does <3
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