A Former dragoon. Gentleman with a spear and a grudge.
Acheron was born not into privilege, but into silence.His mother, Béatrice Ferralune, was a noble of Ishgard—a proud dragoon, fierce and unbending. His father, a nameless soldier with no title and nothing to offer but love. Their union was an unforgivable sin in the eyes of House Ferralune. Love, however true, could not outweigh the weight of legacy. A bastard child with lowborn blood threatened to unravel the tapestry of their name.So they hid.In secret, they planned their escape—away from the cold spires of Ishgard, away from war and duty. Ul’dah offered the promise of sun, anonymity, and a life of their own making. But the night Béatrice went into labor, Ishgard burned. A Dravanian horde swept down upon the city like a curse. Béatrice, even weakened, took up her lance. The soldier, desperate, took up arms beside her.They never stood a chance.Their bodies were found days later, scorched and broken. But amidst the ruin, the infant lived. No one could say how—a miracle, perhaps, or a cruel joke of fate. House Ferralune, fearing the disgrace more than mourning their fallen daughter, refused to acknowledge the child. He was cast off, nameless, voiceless, sent to an orphanage as though he’d never existed.Only one man protested—Alderic Ferralune, Béatrice’s younger brother. But his voice carried little weight against the will of a house gripped by shame and tradition.Acheron grew with no past and no future. The other children whispered that he was dragon-cursed, a child who should have died in the fire. He knew only this: that his parents died in a Dravanian attack, and that his blood boiled with the need to avenge them. He trained himself with stolen blades and bruised fists, forging his body into a weapon. Not for glory. Not for duty. For retribution.Still, someone always watched from afar. Alderic never stopped keeping vigil, his promise to Béatrice. Years passed. The war dragged on. One by one, the noble lines of House Ferralune were thinned by battle, scandal, and sickness. Pride gave way to desperation.With the family teetering on the edge of extinction, Alderic was made patriarch of house Ferralune and he could finally make his move. He reclaimed the boy they had abandoned and brought him home.Acheron did not forgive easily. The halls of the Ferralune estate were colder than the orphanage ever was. Though Alderic offered honesty—telling the boy of his mother, his lineage, his exile—truth did little to soothe the bitterness. The memories of hunger, of fists and nights without warmth, did not fade just because he now wore a noble’s name.But in time, a bond took root. Alderic became the father Acheron had never known. He taught him not just swordplay and strategy, but history, politics, and the burdens of nobility. Still, Acheron’s heart beat only for vengeance. Nobility meant nothing to him—he wanted to make the dragons bleed, to write justice in fire and steel.Alderic saw it. The boy had the strength of Béatrice and the fury of one who had been cast aside by the world. It was the same conviction his mother had. One Alderic knew all too well, and so if he could not quell the burning in the boy's heart he would strive to guide it to something more. Calling in every favor and thread of good will, Alderic arranged for Acheron’s enlistment into the Temple Knights. There, the boy would find purpose. There, he would become a weapon. And perhaps, finally, bring honor—if not peace—to the house that once forsook him.
As a soldier-knight in the Ishgardian military, Acheron quickly distinguished himself. Few could rival his skill, and none matched his ferocity in battle against the dragon horde. After nearly four years of service, he rose to second-in-command of his unit. Recognizing his exceptional talent, his captain pushed his name forward to begin the trials to become Ishgard's finest, a Dragoon —an opportunity reserved for Ishgard’s most promising knights.Acheron passed the trials and spent several years as a dragoon, but he sought more; dreaming to one day reach the most venerated position of the legendary dragon-slaying unit. However, the honor of being the Azure Dragoon ultimately went to Estinien even if acquired through recklessness. The sting of that jealousy did not fade... it festered. And thusly ignited a new fire in Acheron, driving him to prove himself in other ways. He began hunting and slaying other formidable creatures beyond dragons, honing his craft with relentless determination. This versatility would cement his reputation as one of the most lethal dragoons ever to serve Ishgard.
Eventually, the Dragonsong War came to an end—and with it, the need for Ishgard’s dragon slayers. For many, this would have been a moment of relief, even celebration. But for Acheron, it was a devastating shock. His thirst for vengeance remained unquenched, and his skills, honed for war, were now essentially obsolete.Left without a purpose, the months that followed were a brutal trial of patience and identity. His body, forged for combat, ached for purpose. His mind, sharpened by years of blood and fire, wrestled with emptiness. Alderic, ever the steadfast guardian, tried to steer him toward a new path—education in governance, lessons in diplomacy, understanding the intricate dance of court politics. But Acheron met each lesson with stubborn silence or simmering frustration. The life he knew was one of spears and struggle; he had little patience for words and whispered schemes.The truth behind the Dragonsong War—and the church’s role in it—had finally been unveiled, shaking Ishgard to its core. The city that once looked to the skies with fear and hatred now sought to rebuild bridges with dragonkind, embracing a fragile peace that many still doubted. For Acheron, and for the dragoons as a whole, this new order was bewildering and unwelcome. They had been warriors forged in hatred and fire; now, they were relics of a past society eager to let go and move on from what the war cost.Tensions between Acheron and Alderic grew with each passing day. Alderic’s disappointment was a heavy weight, borne of love and hope. He saw a young man capable of greatness far beyond the battlefield—a leader who could shape not just a new family legacy but the future of Ishgard itself. But Acheron’s heart was shackled to a bitter past, and no amount of hope or reason could break those chains. The hatred that had fueled his every step was not something he could simply set aside.The uncle and nephew clashed—words sharp as blades, silence colder than steel. Alderic, patient but weary, feared he might lose the boy he had fought so hard to save. Acheron, proud and unyielding, felt suffocated by a world that no longer had a place for him.So, like Estinien before him, Acheron left Ishgard.But where Estinien’s departure was a journey of healing and self-discovery, Acheron’s was born of a feeling of bitterness that there was no place for him in this new society. He walked away with a heart heavy and clenched, convinced that in this new Ishgard—one reaching toward forgiveness and reconciliation—there was no room for a soldier whose soul still burned with the embers of a war that had ended too soon, and a vengeance that would never be sated.
TL:DR-- Dead parents. Former Ishgardian Dragoon. Pretty good, but not as good as Estinien. Still hates dragons.