SOLA FAELIA
[ Ghost-Wire ]

Cyberpunk | Seeker of the Sun | Miqo’te
Rebuilt, not redeemed.

SYSTEM ID: SOLA.FAELIA.EXE

A drifter rebuilt from ruin. Seeker of the Sun turned cyber-ghost after a Garlean field experiment went wrong. Lost both arms, half his mind, and most of what kept him human.Solution 9 found him bleeding out and made something new from the wreckage. Now sustained by regenerative neon threading and high-end tech no one can trace, Sola keeps to himself—cool, quiet, and detached.His voice is artificial. His emotions? Unknown. His enemies? Already dead—by someone else's hand.

Dossier

> Alias:
> Sola Faelia
> Designation:
> “Ghost-Wire” | “The Quiet Burn”
> Race:
> Seeker of the Sun Miqo’te
> Affiliation:
> Unofficially tied to Solution 9
> Class/Role:
> Drifter / Tech-Integrated Operative (Non-aligned)
>
> STATUS
> Physical Condition:
> Stable (Cybernetically Sustained)
> Voice:
> Cybernetic Jaw (Vibrated Tech-Speech Unit) – cannot vocalize naturally
> Neural Function:
Augmented—partial brain reconstruction with synthetic cortex patch
> Internal Systems:
>
> Advanced prosthetic arms (Solution 9-spec)
>
> Cybernetic spine, dual lungs, jaw, and oculars
>
> Stomach and partial digestive tract replaced
>
> Integrated healing conduit (green neon energy thread) – continuous regeneration stream
> ///NOTHING FOLLOWS///

INCIDENT // CLASSIFIED STREAM

> Sola Faelia wasn’t a hero, a soldier, or even someone most would remember after a passing glance. A Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te born under Thanalan skies, he lived on the fringes of Ul’dah’s trade routes—running errands, dealing in odd wares, and taking life as it came, one easy step at a time. His family thrived modestly, untouched by war or fame. Sola’s path was his own—quiet, personal, and ordinary.
>
> Until the day it wasn’t.
>
> The Garleans weren’t hunting him specifically. He was just in the wrong place, at the wrong moment—following a merchant trail near Black Brush Station when a covert unit ambushed the area. They were testing a new biocybernetic weapon protocol: full-system organ and limb replacement on living hosts. Sola was dragged in, dissected by the Empire’s cold hands and rebuilt into something less than human.
>
> His arms were the first to go—ripped and replaced with mechanical prototypes. Then his lungs, parts of his guts, half his brain, eyes, jaw, and spine—cut away, hollowed out, and filled with their jagged tech. It wasn’t science. It was mutilation under the mask of advancement. The pain didn’t end when they were done. It just changed shape.
>
> He would have died on that table. Should have.
>
> Instead, someone—maybe luck, maybe fate, maybe something more—got him out. Details are scarce, even to him. What’s known is that his broken body turned up on the edge of Solution 9, a clandestine group known only in whispers, hidden deep in the bleeding edge between magitek and myth. There, they didn’t just fix him. They freed him.
>
> The Garlean parts were stripped out, replaced by tech centuries ahead—integrated systems that restored what was taken. Not perfectly. Not naturally. But beautifully. His jaw was reengineered with vibratory tech—his voice now a soft synth-tone hum shaped by advanced modulation. Without it, he cannot speak at all. His eyes see more than most now, though he rarely says how. And that signature green neon threading subtly through his veins? It’s not for show. It’s a constant regenerative flow—streaming healing energy through his frame, ensuring he stays standing, no matter what.
>
> As for the Garleans who did it? They're already gone. Someone he never met took care of it. No name. No reason given. Just a message: “They won’t hurt anyone else.”
>
> Sola never looked into it. Revenge wasn’t his style.
>
> He doesn’t speak about what happened. Not from shame—he just doesn’t care to relive something he already moved past. That part of his life is closed. Dead weight. He walks with a quiet ease now, unbothered by chaos, untouched by the urgency of others. He’s not angry. Not even bitter. Just detached. Relaxed. Prefers keeping things chill. Drama is noise he doesn’t invite, and if it shows up, he’s gone before it gets loud.
>
> His family? Untouched. The Garleans didn’t even know they existed, and Sola made sure it stayed that way. He never reached out. Not out of guilt, but out of clarity—they were safe, unscarred, and deserved to remain so.
>
> The tragedy shaped him, but it didn’t break him. If anything, it made him harder to rattle. His past is stitched into his core like code, but you'd never know unless you asked—and even then, he might just shrug.
>
> Sola Faelia didn’t choose to survive.
>
> He just made it look effortless.
>

> BIOLOGICAL BACKGROUND
> Origin:
Southern Thanalan outskirts
> Family Status:
Alive and unaware – no known contact since incident
Incident Record:
Captured during Garlean field test operation near Ul’dah route
>
> Victim of full-body experimentation
>
> Recovered in critical state; presumed dumped post-failure
>
> Extracted and rebuilt by Solution 9
>
> PSYCH PROFILE
> Disposition:
> Relaxed | Detached | Sarcastic | Conflict-Averse
>
> “He’s the type who watches a building burn and asks for a quieter room.”
> Rarely engages unless necessary; avoids emotional investment and leadership roles.
Displays no active trauma response—believed to have fully dissociated from past events.
>
> Temperament Markers:
>
> Uncaring about revenge or justice
>
> Values quiet, autonomy, low stakes
>
> Displays biting humor with cold undertones
>
> Considers most things “not his problem”
>
> NOTABLE EVENTS
Garlean squad responsible for his disfigurement: Terminated by unknown third party
>
> Refused Solution 9’s offer to assist with retaliation
>
> Known to disappear for weeks or months at a time
>
> Leaves no digital trace—moves quietly, off-grid
>
> CLASSIFIED NOTES [S9 INTERNAL ONLY]
“Sola’s not a weapon, not a soldier. He’s a ghost we gave bones to. Let him be. He works better in silence.”

“I didn’t survive out of willpower—I just didn’t bother dying.”“You want closure? Try duct tape.”“Let ‘em scream. I’ll hum.”“People say I’m lucky. They’re not wrong. I got out, and I don’t care.”“Revenge? Already taken care of. Not my mess anymore.”“I didn’t survive out of willpower—I just didn’t bother dying.”

> Log Timestamp: Undisclosed
> Audio Status: Stable
> Voice ID: Verified – S.Faelia
> Tone: Calm / Detached / Casual
>
> “Wrong road. Wrong time. Garleans grabbed me on a supply trail to Ul’dah. My family? Still breathing. Still clueless. Good for them.”
>
> “I woke up metal. Arms, lungs, jaw, eyes—all hacked on with rust and malice. Empire tech’s more butchery than science. Then Solution 9 showed up. Didn’t ask me anything. Just fixed the mess. Now I’m breathing through wires and talking with a tech-jaw.”
>
> “Revenge? Already handled. Not by me. Never met the person. Don’t care to.”
>
> “I don’t chase ghosts. I chill. I drift. Drama dies in the dark—I just watch.”> "End log"

> Log Timestamp: Undisclosed
> Audio Status: Stable
> Voice ID: Verified – S.Faelia
> Tone: Calm / Detached / Casual
>
> “So. You found this log. Lucky you. Or unlucky—depending on what you were hoping for.”
>
> “Name’s Sola Faelia. Not that it matters. You’re not gonna find much in the records. Miqo'te, Seeker of the Sun, from somewhere boring and dust-covered near Ul’dah. My family? They're fine. Still living the quiet life growing herbs, selling trinkets. No clue what happened to me. I made sure of that. They didn’t need to get dragged into this mess.”
>
> “Anyway. The short version? Wrong road. Wrong time. Garlean covert sweep—one of those ‘experimental units’ they like to pretend don’t exist. Snatched me up like scrap. Didn’t even ask questions. Just cut. Both arms. Gone. Lungs, jaw, half my brain. Spine. Guts. Eyes. All replaced with their ugly metal. You ever been conscious while they rewire your nerves? I don’t recommend it.”
>
> “But I didn’t die. Not then. I blacked out. Woke up somewhere else. Clean lab. Cold lights. People smarter than the Empire’s entire high command put together. Solution 9. Real quiet types. Fringe tech. They didn’t ask what I wanted—just started putting me back together. Replaced everything. Smoothed out the rough work.”
>
> “Now? My voice? Yeah, this isn’t real. It’s a vibrated tech-jaw. Without it, I don’t talk. Don’t breathe right either without the rest of the rig. But hey—it works. Better than what the Empire gave me.”
>
> “The glowing green lines? Don’t let anyone tell you it’s a fashion choice. That’s healing energy. Constant flow. Keeps me from falling apart, cell by cell. Kind of important when half your body was once a butchered prototype.”
>
> “Revenge? Nah. Never lifted a finger. Someone else got there first. Wiped the Garlean squad that did it. Didn’t even leave their names behind. I got a data ping one morning with a single line: ‘It’s done.’ Whoever it was… thanks, I guess. But I didn’t ask.”
>
> “These days? I keep to myself. I don’t chase drama. Don’t chase meaning either. I like back alley bars. White noise. Places no one expects anything. Not bitter, not broken. Just... out of range. People want to make a tragedy out of what happened to me. I let ‘em. Makes them feel something. Me? I’m good.”
>
> “…Anyway. That’s all you’re getting. Don’t try to trace this. You won’t like what traces back.”
>
> "End log. Delete log."
>
[End of Log]
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