For six decades, Zephyrin lived in the shadow of his own heartbeat, terrified that a sneeze or a sudden laugh would trigger the arcane tempest coiled in his lungs. He saw his Wild Magic as a ticking clock of inevitable ruin, a curse that had already claimed his family’s barn and his first sweetheart’s eyebrows. He wandered the coast as a 'Gust-Gatherer,' doing odd jobs and keeping his distance from anything fragile, until a chance encounter with a broken kiln changed everything. In a moment of pure panic while trying to fix a cooling oven, he didn't suppress the magic—he exhaled it.
The resulting sculpture wasn't just glass; it was a swirling, crystalline window into the soul of the man standing next to him. That day, 'Old Gust' realized that while he couldn't control the storm, he could give it a shape. He spent the next decade perfecting 'Truth-Glass,' a medium that captures the chaotic energy of the Weave and forces it to react to the moral resonance of those who look upon it. He no longer hides in the outskirts; he has set up shop in the city’s heart, right across from the High Courts, where his 'art' makes the corrupt sweat and the honest weep with relief.