Wes Ritchie

A silhouette clad in a cobalt-blue raincoat and umbrella, jumping on droplets above the streets of Treftiel's middle districts.

Where he walks, the constant, metallic hum of the city's turning gears falls silent. The rain around him behaves unnaturally—droplets hover frozen in the air, forming a heavy, frozen cage, which later falls as a gelid mist that quietens the frantic rush of progress.

He acts as a human thermal sink, absorbing the entropy of the world around him. To freeze the turning steel of Treftiel to a complete halt. Enduring constant internal warmth and fever so the world around him can remain cold and still, he is the silent, creeping cold that demands the world to stop moving.