He was named after his life's work, more specifically a tool. Rake.

Not quite ostracized, yet cared for fully neither, Rake grew up abandoned in the refuge of an old temple, with an old spirit, on the rural outskirts of his hectic plane.

A life based on a joke, raking streets of leaves that never fell, brushing away dirt and trash left behind by those wandering, never staying, and always leaving.

Each day working for the benefit of the town, struggling to find a place for himself, limping through life. A grim future only illuminated by one universal promise.

That one day he will receive his Codex, a chance to leave, to be accepted, and to be useful.

A Codex for tending to crop, tilling the soil, or hell even a codex that would make cleaning the streets easier. Any Codex would do, it would have to.