Lumen

Lumen is a 6-star character in Arknights. Lumen's class is Medic. Faction: Iberia.

On our Arknights tier list Lumen is B tier, 116th of the 293 characters ranked, from where 7 current tier lists put Lumen.

A 6-star Medic who fixes status problems. His heals grant Status Resistance, and allies hit by a negative status in his range get an instant heal. His first skill adds healing over time, his second heals three allies and cleanses them when charged, and This Lantern Undying prioritises allies with negative statuses, healing them for much more and removing the status with each shot until its ammo runs out.

He's the go-to Medic for stages full of stuns, freezes and other debuffs.

WAH-X: On Jordi's lower leg is an already almost indiscernible scar, left when he was nine years old.

Young Jordi always loved to sit on the benches that lined the town plaza, hugging his knees, spacing out as he stared at the lighthouse statue in the plaza's center.

Whenever he did, he did so for the whole day.

Jordi had carefully chosen his position, and watching from this angle at sunset, the sinking sun in the west would line up with the tip of the lighthouse for the briefest moment, like this tiny little lighthouse too had come alight.

Regrettably, it was a fleeting scene, and in the span of a few short breaths, the lighthouse statue would once again go out.

Everything about it would be rapidly shrouded in shadow, engulfed by darkness.

What he had just witnessed was much like an illusion, gone without a trace.

Fortunately, the sun would rise as it did before the next day, and the lighthouse would come alight again.

Just for a moment, of course.

On the day of his ninth birthday, Jordi decided to do something big.

He wanted to grab hold of something more lasting.

He'd try and see for himself what the town's elder workers were so proud of yet kept so secret, see for himself the colossal structure the parents he'd never met had disappeared in, see for himself that true "Eye of Iberia.

" Jordi began to climb the statue in the plaza, believing as long as he stood on its top, he'd be able to see the true rays of the lighthouse piercing through the fog.

He clambered inch by inch, hearing the passersby in the plaza shrieking frantically, but the top was right there before him, he just had to make one final leap.

Jordi suddenly felt himself falling–the protrusion he'd used as footing likely crumbled–but why he was falling was no longer important.

Jordi had struggled so he could cast his sight far away.

Even if it was only for a split-second, he wanted to see it.

Nothing. There was nothing. The fog was like a gauze, covering all upon the surface of the sea.

When Jordi came to, he was already back at home, his leg bandaged, the scent of meat porridge pervading the room.

Hearing the sound of Jordi turning over, Thiago poked his body out of the kitchen.

Jordi thought he'd be in for a ferocious scolding, but Thiago simply stared at him for a moment, let out a sigh, and pointed in the direction of the desk.

There was laid a spyglass, glittering in alluring bronze.

That was a bygone affair, years and years ago, and now the scar has even faded.

Only the small town's plaza seems to have been overlooked by time, resting unchanged.

Jordi sits in his younger self's most favorite spot.

Now he's seen the true Eye of Iberia, yet he can no longer sit on this bench with his uncle, listening to those heart-racing stories, taking turns at the spyglass through which they'd gaze far away.

But even with the help of a spyglass, they still couldn't see anything.

It was the one thing the two of them silently, tacitly, never mentioned to each other.

WAH-Y: To the Inquisition has come an Ægir.

I can assure you, not for the past thirty years.

. . no, forty, at the very least! Has an Ægir set foot in the Inquisition's court in any capacity other than that of the tried.

The very words themselves are preposterous.

It was a young man, not particularly remarkable at first glance.

Of fair height, but didn't stand too straight or firm.

His features were proper, but lacked any good presence.

In all regards, not someone especially worth minding.

If it weren't for the fact he was an Ægir, I think even someone new like myself wouldn't have batted an eye at him, with how unassuming and overt his arrival was.

But now, all the Inquisition is abound with the rumor of this Ægir.

Some say he's some wicked convict's bosom friend, merely held temporarily in custody, but this young man–before I forget, his name is Jordi Fontanarossa–clearly has no restrictions placed on his movements.

Others believe he's a signal from Lord Carmen that the Inquisition is once again to admit and even promote some of the Islanders in due time.

However, Jordi Fontanarossa himself is feeble and weak, and his education lacking.

At best, he would be capable of some meager secretarial work, and it doesn't seem as if his position is particularly lofty.

Given our workplaces are so near each other, I've had the opportunity to observe him.

This Ægir punches in at twenty minutes before his shift each morning, sometimes a little later, but he's never tardy.

He's prone to occasional clumsiness; he once caused a misprint of documents after poorly operating the press, wasting quires of business paper.

If I hadn't chanced to pass by and stop the machine, who knows how his accident could have evolved.

I wasn't going out of my way to help him, of course, simply taking responsibility for our work.

And no matter how I explained to him as such, the Ægir just persisted with his smile.

He'd clearly misunderstood something! Such a loathsome smile!

One time, in relation to a vital operation, some colleagues and I were working overtime into the night.

The Ægir brought a bucket of drinks over, telling us it was some herbal tea he'd mixed himself.

I wasn't interested in having any, but that sort of thing is effective at keeping one awake, so for the sake of work, it would have to do.

It was about early morning by the time we were done with overtime, and everyone was audibly starving, running on bellies filled with nothing but tea.

There in the dark, I suddenly heard footsteps approach, then saw someone had lit a lantern.

It was that Ægir, who himself hadn't left for some reason, and had a pot in his hands too, with several bags clearly filled with food hanging from his wrists.

"Ah, are you all done with work? You must be exhausted.

The man seemed all too apologetic as he regarded us.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of help with any of it.

All I could do was make some food that'd be light on the stomach.

With no patience for hearing out his habitual self-debasement and humbling excuses, I took his pot without any fanfare.

It was a vanilla porridge, and all signs pointed to it being yet another recipe beneficial to health.

Lord Carmen having taken in this Ægir as a disciple?

Absolutely never would I lend credence to such a ridiculous rumor.

That said, based on what I've seen, should the Inquisition decide it would readmit Islanders, I suppose it would hardly be a bad thing.