In the still, stagnant depths of what was once a thriving city, Halcionne emerged as the embodiment of inertia, the crushing weight of inaction that often feels impossible to escape. The city, now reduced to a landscape of decay and desolation, reflects the very essence of Mire’s existence—where time seems to stand still, and progress feels like a distant memory.

Halcionne’s creation was born out of the countless moments where people felt trapped, unable to move forward, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, or simply overwhelmed by the enormity of life’s challenges. They are the heavy, suffocating force that keeps one rooted in place, the echo of every time someone said, “Maybe tomorrow,” or “What’s the point?”

Halcionne’s mentors were the rusting machines of industry, the forgotten projects left to gather dust, and the stagnant waters that fill the abandoned canals. From these, Halcionne learned the art of holding still—of finding comfort in the familiar, even when it’s slowly consuming everything around it. They represent the inertia that creeps into our lives, making even the smallest tasks feel insurmountable.

Halcionne’s skill is in their ability to make inaction feel like the safest, most comforting choice, lulling those they encounter into a sense of false security. Yet, Halcionne also understands that this comfort is deceptive, that it can trap someone in a cycle of stagnation that’s hard to break free from. They serve as a reminder that while stillness can sometimes be necessary, it can also be dangerous if it becomes a way of life.