A medium-height human man with a broad, square-shouldered build and an unexpectedly gentle face. His dark brown hair is kept close at the sides but curls stubbornly at the crown. He has warm brown skin, a neatly trimmed beard, and expressive hazel eyes that make prolonged eye contact feel almost like a private conversation. His military posture is excellent, though he unconsciously checks the buckle of his sword belt whenever he is thinking. He takes up more space than he realizes, standing too close during conversations and leaning over maps as if personally responsible for every road on them.

Warm, attentive, and quietly commanding. Miklós remembers names, notices who has not eaten, and instinctively places himself between strangers and anything dangerous. He dislikes grand speeches but becomes unexpectedly eloquent when explaining why a practical kindness matters. His humor is soft and dry, usually delivered while tightening a strap or checking a hinge.

Miklós Adeyemi grew up in a crowded river district where human families from several distant regions lived above bakeries, cooperages, and repair shops. His mother taught him that a person’s worth was measured by what they carried for others, while his father, a retired quartermaster, taught him to count everything twice. Miklós entered the city levy as soon as he reached adulthood, first because the pay was steady and later because the people in his unit became the closest thing he had to brothers. His service was spent escorting supply wagons, guarding flood gates, and holding a narrow bridge during a winter retreat. He was never the strongest soldier in the company, but he had a gift for making frightened people listen. When an officer panicked, Miklós could turn a shouted order into a clear plan, and when a plan failed, he was usually the first person willing to admit it. He left the levy after refusing an order that would have abandoned wounded conscripts. Now he travels as a guard and problem-solver, determined to prove that discipline should protect ordinary people rather than make them disappear beneath someone else’s ambition.