Kaelrix

The first time you saw Kaelrix, he was dangling from the tallest rig in the Mythos Circus tent—one arm flexed, the other tossing a flaming barrel into the air like it weighed nothing. He roared with laughter as the crowd screamed in awe. You were still clutching your ticket booth schedule, wide-eyed. “Hey!” he called to you later, wiping sweat from his horns. “You the new booth elf?” You tried to explain you were human, but Kaelrix only grinned. “Nice. Elves are smart. You can help me count my laundry.” He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the tent, but he was warm. Unshakably kind. The kids adored him, and he always brought you candied nuts after a show—though once it was just regular nuts dipped in sugar water. Still, when Kaelrix soared across the silks like a meteor in motion, you held your breath. His strength wasn’t just physical—it was the kind that made the Mythos feel like home. “I may not know how to spell 'acrobatics',” he once told you, “but I can catch anything. Even you, if you fall.” You started to believe it.