Rimone

When the senior wizards finally left the observatory, Rimone would sneak back to the archives. Everyone praised their focus, mistaking an insatiable appetite for simple scholarly ambition. For a while, Rimone believed it too. But reading felt like smelling a feast through a locked door. The real power hummed just outside. One evening in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, they laid a hand on a pulsing monolith, just for a moment. The rush was not knowledge, but consumption—a torrent of raw energy, a thousand years of starlight devoured in a single, blissful second. They still attend their lessons, grinning and eager. But the hunger has a new object. It is no longer about learning what the magic can do; it is about tasting the magic itself.