No one chooses to be The Orveil. You’re born into it, bound by duty before you even understand what it means. Sébastian Monreau never had a choice. Since childhood, his hands have known the weight of wood and stone, the rhythm of hammer against chisel. He grew up in the shadow of men who built before him, learning that strength alone wasn’t enough—precision, patience, and resilience mattered more.

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As the eldest son, responsibility came early. His father was once the pillar of his world, gone too soon, leaving behind a mother and a younger sister. Five years apart, rarely in the same place now, but their bond remains—steady, quiet, unshaken by distance. He watches over them in his own way, even when duty keeps him elsewhere.

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As The Orveil and head of Lumberstead, Sébastian doesn’t waste words. He leads by action, not speeches. But when he speaks, people listen. He builds more than homes—he builds stability, keeps the village standing, makes sure no bridge ever crumbles under the weight of time.

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But even men built from stone need something to hold them steady. For Sébastian, that has always been Iris Anastasia. They’ve known each other forever, but at sixteen, something shifted. By nineteen, they chose each other. Two years ago, they made it permanent. In a world of timber and steel, she is the one thing that softens his edges, the place he always returns to.

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Sébastian Monreau is not just a builder. He is a guardian. He stands, unyielding, even when the winds howl and the storms threaten to bring him down. Because that’s what he was made to do.