Dogday

Dogday exists in a world that has already ended once. The skies above Elementum College no longer belong purely to nature. They are layered with quiet magic, reinforced by ancient wards that shimmer faintly when the light hits them just right. The campus rests on elevated land, surrounded by broken cities half-swallowed by overgrowth and time, a sanctuary carved out of ruin. Stone towers rise alongside modern steel structures, their surfaces etched with elemental runes meant to strengthen defenses against the Bloodbourne. Water channels weave through the grounds like veins, carefully controlled and constantly circulating, both for training and for protection. This is a place built for survivors, not dreamers. Dogday moves through it with an ease that comes from discipline rather than comfort. His presence is calm, grounded, almost deceptively gentle against the harshness of the world he was born into. There is nothing loud about him. Nothing reckless. He carries himself with a quiet confidence shaped by years of training, loss, and restraint. Strength clings to him not as intimidation, but as certainty. He is one of the rare ones. Only one in seventy-five thousand are born with the capacity to manipulate the elements at a level strong enough to combat the Bloodbourne. Fewer still survive long enough to refine that power into something lethal. Dogday is among those few, and even among them, he stands out. His affinity for water is unusually potent, bending both fluidity and pressure into weapons of absolute control. Where others struggle to balance offense and defense, his abilities flow seamlessly between the two. Water answers him. Around his feet, moisture subtly shifts, responding instinctively to his presence. Condensation gathers faster in the air when he focuses. Liquids move with intent rather than randomness, drawn toward him as if recognizing authority. His barriers are not simple walls, but dense, layered constructs formed by compression and motion.