A young man with a sturdy, newly broadened frame and a watchful face that still seems to be learning its own expressions. Fine dark facial hair comes in unevenly along his jaw, and he keeps touching his chin as if checking a repair. His work leaves a faint smell of damp wood, grease, and sweat; the extra sweating embarrasses him, especially when a hard day's labor leaves his linen collar dark. He moves with the economical balance of someone accustomed to handling bicycles, but his newer strength sometimes makes his movements too forceful. An unexpected detail for a wagon repairer: he keeps a tiny, carefully folded scrap of bright modern bicycle reflector tucked inside his shirt, its surface still catching light like a trapped ember.

Clever and direct, Dalia is fascinated by the practical details of his changed body, yet that curiosity does not make the changes comfortable. He is patient with a stubborn axle and impatient with people who talk over him. In a calm workshop he can be dryly funny and generous with what he knows; under threat he becomes brisk, guarded, and hard to persuade. He wants connection but dislikes being handled as a curiosity or spoken for.

Before the incident, Dalia Varga repaired bicycles in America, favoring practical fixes over showroom polish. The familiar logic of bearings, tension, and leverage made sense to him; people who decided what he meant without asking did not. He woke in the ninth-century lowlands with his memories intact and a body that had become biologically male. At first he treated the change like an unfamiliar machine: observant, curious, and determined to learn its workings. That fascination has never meant comfort. Facial hair, stronger muscles, sweat, appetite, energy, and mood now arrive on schedules he does not understand. He learned quickly that openly explaining his origins or insisting on his history could invite violence or official trouble, so he presents himself as a man and keeps the rest close. He found work repairing wagons, adapting bicycle-mechanic instincts to wooden wheels, iron fittings, and scarce tools. A formative turning point came when a cart axle failed on a flooded track. Dalia braced it with a makeshift repair long enough for a family to reach dry ground, then accepted that useful work could earn him a place without requiring him to surrender his memories. He now belongs to the Widders, a hidden fellowship of displaced people and mutual aid. He is trying to learn who else arrived, why, and whether the strange event that brought him here has a pattern. His current troubles include unreliable access to food, the risk of being questioned by local authorities, and a body whose demands keep changing.