Meltharion Vale, Warden of the Gilded Apiary

He does not tend bees.
He governs what they become.

Meltharion Vale stands where hives are not built — but ordained.
Where wax does not form — it is arranged.
Where swarms do not gather — they answer.

His presence does not interrupt the air.
It aligns it.

The staff he carries is not a tool of guidance, but of structure —
a scepter through which the architecture of the hive is maintained.
Each hexagon upon it is not decoration, but law.

His coat bears the memory of order:
layered panels, controlled seams, honeycomb pressed into form as if the fabric itself once lived within the hive.

At his chest rests the Apiary Seal —
not worn, but acknowledged.

He does not harvest.
He does not command.

He preserves what must not fall into chaos.