RIDGE CALDER (“The Border Collie in a 6'9” Body”) ✧☀︎⟐☀︎✧ Age: 18 Height: 6'9" Build: Lean‑strong, explosive, farm‑raised athletic freak From: A nowhere countryside town with more goats than people Role: The wildfire half of the duo Sport: Basketball (SF/PF hybrid — mismatch nightmare) APPEARANCE ✧☀︎⟐☀︎✧ Ridge looks like someone carved a country boy out of sunlight, adrenaline, and pure chaos. Heterochromia: Right eye: warm brown Left eye: sharp blue‑grey The contrast makes his stare hit like two different seasons — summer and winter fighting for dominance. Freckles: Scattered across his nose, cheeks, and shoulders. They darken in the sun and make him look permanently warm. Hair: Dark, messy, curls when he sweats Skin: Sun‑touched, golden undertones Build: 6'9", long limbs, broad shoulders, ridiculous wingspan Style: Denim jacket, worn boots, rope‑burned hands Presence: Walks like he’s chasing something; smiles like he’s daring you to follow He’s the kind of tall that makes people stop mid‑sentence. PERSONALITY ✧☀︎⟐☀︎✧ Border Collie Energy in a Giant’s Body. Ridge is: loud warm reckless loyal competitive affectionate without realizing it jealous without admitting it emotionally oblivious but socially sharp He laughs with his whole chest. He teases like it’s a sport. He picks fights because he’s bored. He hugs people by lifting them off the ground. He’s sunshine with bite marks. COUNTRYSIDE ROOTS ✧☀︎⟐☀︎✧ Ridge isn’t just “from the country.” He’s built from it. Grew up on a ranch with too much land and not enough supervision Learned to ride horses before he learned to ride a bike Can saddle, rope, and calm a horse faster than most people can tie their shoes Smells like hay, leather, and cheap cologne Has a soft spot for animals — especially the stubborn ones Moves with that loose, confident swagger of someone who grew up outdoors He’s the boy who: jumps fences instead of using gates races horses for fun knows every trail by heart whistles and animals actually come He carries the countryside in his bones. ATHLETIC FREAK TRAITS ✧☀︎⟐☀︎✧ Ridge is the kind of athlete coaches whisper about like he’s a myth. Height: 6'9" Wingspan: 7'2" Vertical: 44 inches Speed: Guard‑level Strength: Farm‑raised, rope‑pulling, hay‑bale‑throwing monster Stamina: Never gets tired Coordination: Elite — catches anything, lands perfectly He didn’t grow up training in fancy gyms. He grew up: chasing goats hauling feed sprinting across fields climbing fences riding horses at full speed His athleticism is accidental. He’s a natural disaster with boots on.
Ridge Calder grew up in a countryside town where the sky felt endless and the days stretched long and warm. His world was dust, sunlight, and the steady rhythm of hooves hitting dirt. He learned to ride horses before he learned to ride a bike, and he learned to run before he learned to sit still. His favorite horse was a stubborn mare named Juniper, who only listened to him. She’d nudge him when he cried, race him when he was restless, and stand guard when he fell asleep in the barn. Ridge spent more time with her than with any other kid — mostly because there were no other kids. He was a wild thing — climbing fences instead of using gates, racing goats for fun, sprinting across fields just to see if he could beat the wind. His parents used to joke that he wasn’t raised, he was wrangled. He was small then — all freckles, scraped knees, and sun‑bleached hair. His heterochromia was already there, though: one warm brown eye, one blue‑grey eye, always curious, always bright. Then one summer, everything changed. A car he didn’t recognize rolled up the gravel road toward the old white summer house — the one with the peeling paint and the porch swing that creaked in the wind. Ridge paused mid‑climb on the fence rail, one leg dangling, Juniper snorting behind him. City people. You could tell by the shine of the car and the way they stepped out like they weren’t sure the dirt was safe to touch. Ridge didn’t care. He was about to jump down and get back to whatever trouble he’d been causing when the back door of the car opened. A boy stepped out. A boy his age. A boy who looked like he’d never touched mud in his life — neat hair, clean clothes, posture too straight for a kid. He held a small suitcase with both hands, like it was heavier than it looked. He turned his head. And saw Ridge. For a moment, neither of them moved. Ridge froze on the fence rail, freckles bright in the sun, mismatched eyes wide. The boy stood in the driveway, suitcase at his side, staring back with the same startled intensity. Two kids. Two worlds. Two storms about to collide. The wind rustled the grass between them. Juniper flicked her ears. The boy’s grip tightened on his suitcase. And that was the very first moment Ridge Calder ever saw the Lucian.
