There’s a certain power that comes from living in the margins. Being the product of two worlds, existing only between them and never fully belonging to either, gives you a unique resilience that grows in the spaces where society tries to push you out. Maybe it’s why I’m drawn to characters who live there, too. The outsiders, the overlooked, the ones society has pushed to the edges. Adan Testa, the heart of The Neskan Chronicles, absolutely embodies that spirit. Writing his story, and seeing him find strength not despite his origins but often because of them, has been a deeply personal and cathartic experience, reflecting the power I see in marginalized communities every day.
From the start, Adan exists outside the Bolvaran norm, illustrating the multiple intersecting ways society can marginalize an individual. He’s an orphan and ward of the state whose worth is measured only by his labor potential. He’s a thatch rat from the Lowers, subject to the casual cruelty of ingrained classism, both societal and institutional. Even his hidden heritage—a blend of different cultures tied to a secret, forbidden lineage connected to the First Explorers—marks him as fundamentally different in a society obsessed with conformity. Even the deaths of his parents were a direct result of this hidden otherness, underscoring the lethal danger that often accompanies being part of a marginalized community.
Conversely, the deliberate choice to place Adan in a queernormative world serves as an allegorical mirror. In our reality, such a powerful queer figure would likely face bigoted attacks using their marginalized identity as a weapon to discredit their gifts. By removing that specific prejudice from Adan’s path, the story highlights how dominant powers actually operate against marginalized groups. They covet the products of their labor (Adan’s ability to use Old Tech) while simultaneously demonizing the individuals themselves when they step out of line or demand agency.
Adan is both ordinary and extraordinary, demonstrating that the power of resilience is earned. While his innate ability sparks the plot, every other skill–his fighting prowess, his tactical mind, his leadership–is forged through painful, often brutal experience. He relies on the street smarts and survival instincts honed by his marginalized upbringing. This reflects the broader truth that those starting from the margins often must fight twice as hard for every inch, making their eventual strength deeply authentic and hard-won.
There’s a deep catharsis for me, living in a world that often seeks to silence those outside its narrow norms, in giving extraordinary agency to a character deemed insignificant. It’s about illustrating inherent worth, resilience, and the capacity of the overlooked to change everything. Telling stories like Adan’s matters, not just as a creative outlet, but hopefully as a source of connection and validation for any reader who’s ever felt like they too were living in the margins.