Sett "Unknown"

He Who Was Left Behind

From the smoke-stained alleys of Marakath’s slums rose a boy who should’ve been forgotten.
Sett was the kind of child the city tried to swallow whole, dust-streaked, sharp-eyed, and always watching. The eldest of two, he carved a place for himself and his brother, Scoppio, in the gutter’s shadows, surviving on quick hands and quicker wits. He had a way of moving that made people overlook him until their coin purses were already gone. The streets taught him to be silent, clever, and ruthless when it mattered.
Their mother, worn thin by the grind of poverty, sold scraps in the market with a strength that defied her failing health. She smiled with cracked lips, cooked with shaking hands, and stood between her sons and the storm of their father’s fists until she couldn’t anymore.
Sett never forgot the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of their world, or the night their father vanished without a word. At sixteen, with nothing left but memories and the ghost of a brother he couldn't find, Sett walked away from Marakath.

He found new life on the edge of civilization, among a band of rogues called the Black Fangs. Their leader, Tharin, an elf with a war-scarred map for a mind, saw potential in the boy from the alleys. Under Tharin’s cold tutelage, Sett honed himself into a ghost in the wilds—an infiltrator, a thief, a man who could disappear into the trees and reappear behind your back with a dagger pressed to your spine.
But Sett never truly pledged himself to the rebellion that burned in the hearts of Tharin and others. While they dreamed of overthrowing Yvelia’s slave-forged thrones, Sett dreamt only of freedom, his own. And perhaps, someday, of finding what remained of the family he left behind.
He departed the Black Fangs with more skills than scars and a name that bandits began to whisper in respect and sometimes, fear.
It was during one of his solitary wanderings through the tangled forests of the Golden Islands that Sett found the creature that would change everything. A wolf pup, barely alive, caught in a poacher’s trap. It should’ve died. Most things did. But Sett saved it, and in turn, it saved him. The pup bore a strange necklace with a single dire wolf tooth, a relic, perhaps. Or something far older.
He called it Fang.
The bond between them was immediate and unspoken. Together, they roamed further from civilization, Sett feeling more alive in the deep wilds than he ever had in the bustle of cities or camps. And yet, the wild began to change him. Or was it the necklace?
Strange things began to happen. Strength where there shouldn’t be. Instincts that weren’t human. Nights lost to blood and blackout. Whispers in the wind that only he could hear. And always, Fang at his side, watchful, silent, knowing.
Then came the betrayal. A name Sett had once trusted, Hannibal, turned on him in a single night of fire and treachery. Only Sett and Fang survived. The necklace, once Fang’s, became his, and with it came a surge of primal energy that seemed to awaken something buried deep within.
Now, he walks the forgotten roads with a wolf at his side and the scent of something ancient in his blood. He doesn’t speak of Marakath, or the bandits, or the rebellion. He leaves questions unanswered, smiles like he knows more than he says, and sleeps with one eye open.
There’s power in the wilds, and Sett didn’t just find it.
It found him.