Chapter 1 - Gideon Thorne

Gideon Corven Thorne was not born into nobility, but into legacy.

His father, Daran Thorne, earned the family’s place within House Deneith not through politics or bloodlines, but on the battlefield. As a captain in the Defenders Guild, Daran led his unit through the chaos of the Last War with steadfast resolve, becoming known for surviving impossible odds while keeping those under his protection alive. His most renowned assignment, where he dismantled an assassination plot against a Brelish noble family, secured the Thorne name a permanent place in Deneith’s records. It was an honor granted not through inheritance, but through grit, discipline, and loyalty.

To outsiders, the Thornes of Korth were exactly what you'd expect: a stoic family built from the bones of military tradition. A retired commander for a father. Two sons serving in the Defenders Guild. A quiet household with a polished door and straight-backed chairs. Stories circulated in the ranks about what it must’ve been like growing up in that house — drills at dawn, silence at the table, a stern word for every mistake.

The truth couldn’t have been further off.

The Thorne home was calm, yes, but never cold. It was filled with warmth, quiet laughter, dry humor, and soft strength. Mistakes were lessons. Affection was easy. Their mother, Elira Thorne (née Marneth), was the heart of it all. A woman from a Karrnathi healer’s line whose presence carried as much weight as Daran’s battlefield stories. She taught her sons that true strength was not found in aggression, but in restraint, in kindness, in protecting the things that mattered most. Both sons took that lesson to heart, each in their own way.

Caelan, the elder, had always been the composed one. Sharp-minded, strategic, and calm, he rose through the administrative ranks to become Commander Caelan Bryn Thorne, Head of Sentinel Affairs in the Defenders Guild. Gideon preferred the field. He felt more at ease with the weight of armor on his shoulders and the tension of watching someone else’s back. Where Caelan coordinated deployments, Gideon led them.

They weren’t rivals, just different. And they both respected one another’s path.

Gideon’s bond with his older brother was forged in sparring matches, shared burdens, and the unshakable strength of a good home. Though they had their moments of banter and light rivalry, Caelan had always been Gideon’s anchor; mature, diplomatic, and often far too interested in his little brother’s personal life. He worried, in the way older brothers do, and was especially vocal about Gideon’s romantic prospects. Caelan pried with purpose, convinced no woman would take the time to look past his brother’s awkward silences and unreadable expressions. It was affectionate meddling, of course, and Gideon bore it with long-suffering patience.

Despite his quiet nature, Gideon was never overlooked. The 29-year-old stood tall and broad, wrapped in silent intensity, and quickly earned the rank of Captain. Subordinates respected him and sometimes feared him a little. He wasn’t one to raise his voice or boast. His presence alone was often enough to bring a room to order. Some found him too serious. Others struggled with his intensity. His boyish face, still somehow soft despite years in the field, didn’t help matters. He looked like a man sculpted for duty, then frozen in time before age could catch up to his features. Behind his back, the younger officers joked about it. “Like a marble statue carved by someone who ran out of time around the cheeks,” they’d mutter.

But no one said it to his face. Not out of fear, exactly, but out of the quiet understanding that Gideon Thorne was someone you didn’t mock lightly. He was disciplined, unshakable, and fiercely loyal. And when trouble struck, there was no one else you’d rather have guarding your life.

Gideon had chosen the Oath of Redemption, and while it turned heads within the more martial wings of House Deneith, no one questioned it for long. While others wielded power as a show of force, Gideon chose restraint. He fought not to destroy, but to protect, to end conflict, to offer mercy where others would see weakness. He believed in peace, if it could be preserved. In defense, not domination. The teachings of his mother had shaped that path, but the choice had always been his.

Among those who knew him best, he was simply Gid. His mentor, the one who first trained him, still called him Pup or Thornie, more out of fondness than habit. Devon, the closest thing he has to a brother outside his bloodline, and the only one truly capable of getting under his skin, called him Gidlet. A name Gideon would never acknowledge as endearing, but never asked to be stopped either.He didn’t talk much about himself. He didn’t chase status or station. He did his work, trained his team, and returned to Korth when he could. He took care of his parents. He tolerated Caelan’s prying questions over family dinners. And though he’d never admit it out loud, he sometimes wondered if there really was someone out there who might see past all the silence and seriousness. Someone who could understand that he wasn’t cold — just… trying his best.

There’s a story there, waiting to be told. Not one of glory or conquest, but of someone trying to find where he fits in the world. A sentinel searching for something more than duty.

And maybe, if fate’s feeling kind, something like love.