#oracles stories

Archa (Pronounced AR-cah).

(Picrew link)

Name: Archa

Age: 18

Birth month: August

Species: Avian / human hybrid

Pronouns: They / She

Archa had never expected to fit in anywhere. It started before they moved to Hometown, when they were the only Avian-human in the predominately human city of Ebbot. Being stared at was nothing they weren't used to, but it felt odd coming from other monsters now. When they hadn't been human enough in Ebbot, it seemed they were seen as an amalgamation of features here, too confusing and best to be avoided. "Human-monster hybrids are incredibly rare, even in monster communities," her mother had explained during the move, as if this would somehow make things easier. "but you'll see— small towns are more accepting." Archa had never felt as alone as in their first weekend in Hometown. They had no cellphone service, no friends to talk to, and definitely not the confidence to approach any of their classmates. Her mum told her to go explore the town, leaving no room for argument as she insisted Archa was to roam the streets of Hometown. After passing the same crack in the pavement near the Librarby, they gave up on their dreams of "casually" striking up a conversation with anyone, feeling too awkward to approach the groups of monsters. A choir. She followed the sound to a small church, its doors propped open to let the music spill onto the sidewalk. There was always something comforting about churches to Archa. Something about the depictions of angels made them feel at home (even if she had horns – "like a devil" a kid once told her, pointing at the depiction of lucifer's banishment from heaven). She slipped inside and found an empty spot in the back pew, next to a woman with a warm appearance. A goat monster. When the final notes faded, the goat monster turned to her with genuine warmth. "I don't think we've met. I'm Toriel Dreemur." She gestured to a quiet teenager beside her. "And this is my child, Kris." By the next Sunday, the Dreemurs had invited Archa over for dinner. Over the months, as winter turned to spring, Archa had begun to see the little home up the road as a place where she belonged. She wasn't necessarily close with Kris or Asriel—or at least, that's what they'd both say if anyone asked. But Kris texted sometimes, mostly memes and the occasional plot for a prank they needed help with. They never made official plans, but Archa had started leaving her window unlocked just in case Kris was "locked out" again (even though Noelle lived much closer and actually has a spare room). So when Kris had followed Susie to get chalk, and that somehow had taken all of 1st and 2nd period, Archa went to the supply closet to look for them.

Archa's Mother is a human, born and raised in the city of Ebbot, but as the city grew, the cost of living increased to the point where it was unsustainable to keep living there (especially when the higher paying jobs weren't given to Avians like Archa's Dad, leaving them with lower income than the human families in Ebbot).

Archa's Dad is an Avian/ Goat monster hybrid, leading to his and Archa's unique appearance. When Mr. Havenson was offered a higher paying job as a health scientist in a hospital specialising in Hometown, the benefits were obvious. The family moved, starting their life anew.

Personality: Archa is intelligent, math smart, and good at reading people. They view the world like a detective might, searching for the meaning in every detail. They're extroverted, but inherently suspicious, treating others kindly but keeping them at an arm's length when it comes to sharing secrets or emotions. This has lead them to isolate themself, keeping most people as acquaintances while they fear calling them 'friends'. They almost certainly know more about you than you know about them, and they hope to keep it that way. The less you know, the less personal it is when you eventually leave. That being said, they're a very attentive friend, the type of person who notices if you're having an off day.

Weapons: Archa prefers close range combat weapons, usually knives. They prefer not to attack when possible, but quickly attack to their full power if they believe their friends could be hurt.

Beneath the shadow of a god’s enduring frame, past the simmering echoes of wars etched in the boiling sea, lied magic—tenacious and untamed. From the titan’s vast remains arose witches and demons, their power coursing through marrow and memory. It hums in the air, a vibration felt in the teeth and the heart, as if the titan’s pulse still beats faintly within you.

Once a free-flowing force, magic was deeply intertwined with the land and its people. However, under the shadow of the Emperor’s Coven, magic is now cataloged, branded, and weaponized. Cultural practices were bent into profitable professions, or lost entirely. Yet in secret, whispers of rebellion bloom like weeds in cracks of stone. Resistance takes root in hidden enclaves, where wild witches weave spells of defiance, piecing together fragments of lost rituals. Their magic, raw and unfiltered, pulses with the memory of what was stolen: the freedom to be whole, to exist beyond the Emperor’s lines and labels.

And so, on the catalystic night of the petrification, the Palisman Carver and the Head of the Emperor’s Coven fled.

The girl paused for a moment at the edge of the Palace’s shadow, her gaze lingering on the place that had shaped her—and nearly destroyed her. The place that convinced her she was special. She whispered a promise (a prayer?) to the winds, a vow to make amends for what she had done. Then she turned and followed her aunt into the unknown, leaving behind a life built on lies to seek a truth she barely understood.