At his core, Hero is guided by curiosity, Hero is our spark — literally and metaphorically. A bright-eyed flour sack living on the dusty outskirts of Baguette, he’s more inventor than warrior, more heart than heat. Hero’s body hums with static energy, a rare and barely understood power that he can’t always control. He’s got a head full of blueprints, a satchel full of scrap metal, and a deep ache to prove he belongs to something bigger. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in belief — even when no one else has his back. With his tiny lizard companion Crepe clinging to his shoulder and hope packed in every step, Hero is learning that courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s moving forward anyway — even when the whole world’s telling you to sit still.

Grinder doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t need to. His presence says enough. Towering, round-shouldered, and carved from ancient basalt and volcanic ore, he’s the last known Orevein — a Loreborn who can command the earth itself. Once, Grinder was a legend among an elite warrior sect known as The Bakers. Now, he’s a ghost of that time, wandering Cornucopia with silence like a second skin. He’s strong, methodical, and borderline immovable — until Hero stumbles into his path and reminds him that some fires never really go out. With stone prayer beads around his wrist and a battle-scarred axe on his back, Grinder carries the weight of memory like it’s armor. He doesn’t speak of what he lost, but if you listen closely, the ground might.

Cinder walks like he owns the sun. Fast-talking, faster moving, and damn near untouchable, this fire-streaked Loreborn burns through life with swagger and spite. His skin glows like embers under ash, a constant flicker of the inferno coiled beneath his grin. Cinder is cocky, yes — but he’s also haunted by a past he doesn’t fully remember. Working under dark orders and haunted by dreams he pretends don’t exist, he’s a loyal weapon trying not to question who’s pulling the trigger. He’ll set a forest ablaze just to watch you squirm… but deep inside, he’s still trying to figure out if he’s fuel — or just another spark waiting to be consumed.

No one knows where Ghost came from. They just know where he isn’t. You won’t see him — just the haze left behind, the cold on the back of your neck, the soft sound of steel whispering through the air. Wrapped in robes darker than moonless sky and wearing a bone-white mask shaped from the minerals of his kills, Ghost is Cornucopia’s most feared assassin. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t miss. And if the smoke starts curling under the door, it’s already too late. His weapon, the Dragonblade, is said to cut through not just flesh but memory itself. And while most think he’s just a myth… the dead don’t get to argue.

No one knows how long Sourdough has lived. Some say he was a Baker who turned. Others say he was never warm to begin with. Now, he leads the Order of Acat — a secretive faction devoted to reshaping the world by reclaiming the Golden Loaf, no matter the cost. Where others seek unity, Sourdough sees flaw. Where others see legacy, he sees rot. He speaks rarely, but when he does, even generals like Cinder listen.

He does not crave power — only correction.