Beneath the crumbling skyline of a once-vibrant city that made every person a star, where the sun never seems to rise above the smog, Cumu was born from the endless cascade of despairing headlines and social media feeds that once dominated the city’s collective consciousness. In the labyrinth of concrete and shattered glass, Cumu thrived, absorbing the endless torrent of bad news that flowed like a poisoned river through the decaying streets.

Their mentors were the echoes of newscasters and influencers who had long since vanished, their voices trapped in the loops of forgotten broadcasts. From them, Cumu learned the art of endurance—the skill of taking in the worst of humanity’s fears and anxieties without being swallowed whole. They became a sponge for the sorrow of the city, absorbing the darkness so others wouldn’t have to.

Cumu’s skill lies in their ability to filter this constant influx of despair, turning it into something just tolerable enough to keep going, but never sweet enough to offer real solace. They carry the weight of the world’s pessimism on their shoulders, yet they do so with a resigned smile, understanding the absurdity of a species that can’t help but doom-scroll even at the end of the world.

Cumu often shares space with Hollow, the Isolation Emissary, in the deserted underground metro tunnels, where the absence of life echoes louder than any scream. They find comfort in each other’s company, a silent agreement that while the world is falling apart, at least they’re not facing it alone.