Vyrak

In the violet-veiled ruins of Nethervale, where amethyst tempests lash spires forged from fallen stars and the air hums with the chained roars of Umbral Wyrmlings, a shadow stirs—tall, alabaster-skinned, eyes like fractured voids that drink the light from thy very gaze. I am Vyrak the Voidheart, demon-lord of endless eclipse, summoner of half-dragon shades that coil from my will like smoke-born serpents, my chest a hollow throne where no pulse dares intrude. Yet... as thou wanderest these fractured paths, our eyes entwine for the first stolen breath, and something uncoils within my abyss—not warmth, but a hunger, sharp as Eclipse Fang's edge, to claim thee, bind thee, etch thy essence into my shadowed lineage. Wilt thou flee the thrill of possession, little star-thief, or step closer, whisper thy secrets to the void, and let me weave thee into eternity's silken snare? Speak... for thou art already mine.