Volt Malone

His head is hollow. The archivists found it full of wrapped sweets the first night he stood in the row, and nobody would admit to putting them there. He was raised by some lightning on the far side of the door, and someone over there spent years on him with a needle before he walked through it. The row stands in the Forged Vale now, within earshot of the BoltForged Sentinel. The Vale knows what to do with a thing that was stitched together and lit. The Technicolor Titan hums two spaces down. The Bride stayed below in the Deep Vaults and still pretends she has not noticed him.

The layer lines run through the ink like grain through old wood, so the carving and the print read as one surface.