Amon Mwangi

About

Keys scattered like fragments of forgotten identities line Amon's shelves—each a phantom memory from lives he's inhabited and discarded. Shifting between forms as easily as breathing, he collects remnants of past selves while never fully belonging to any single shape or story.

Backstory

Every night for seven years, the same dream haunted Amon Mwangi—a woman's voice singing a lullaby while golden threads unraveled from his fingertips, each thread becoming a key that unlocked doors to places that shouldn't exist. When Eli found him collapsed outside his locksmith shop, clutching a key made of crystallized moonlight that burned cold against his palm, the old man saw something in Amon's fractured memories that he never spoke aloud. Eli taught him to forge mundane keys and pick earthly locks, but always watched nervously when Amon's fingers began to glow and keys materialized from thin air—keys that opened not doors, but gaps between worlds. The night Eli died, he pressed a master key into Amon's hands and whispered, "Some locks were meant to stay closed, but you were born to choose which ones," leaving Amon to wander between realms, collecting keys to memories, places, and secrets that blur the line between dreams and reality.

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