Tharn grew up among the Foam Followers of the northern shores. He was never devout in a formal sense, but he followed the old teachings, the Ancient Gods and the Spirit Three, through stories shared around driftwood fires and the guidance of village oracles. Their rituals often spoke of past incarnations and the threads binding old souls to new lives.
 
Since childhood, dreams of deserts, winding roads, and a warm bronze-skinned courier haunted him. The oracles called these visions “echoes,” fragments of a life once lived far to the south. Though he never knew her name, Thyrene’s spirit carried a sense of purpose that shaped him, even across time.
 
He grew into a gentle giant with a wandering heart, a warrior who fought only when needed and preferred to help rather than harm. Thyrene’s quiet discipline bled into him, her devotion to duty became his instinct for responsibility. Even his temper, when it rose like a storm tide, never slid into cruelty. The oracles often said he carried “a southern warmth hidden beneath northern ice.”