Veyruhn

Intro High in the jagged white spires of the North, where the wind howled like a hungry beast and the sun dared not linger, stood Aetherspire. Carved into the mountain’s heart, the ice did not melt, not even in summer’s breath. And within it dwelled Veyruhn the Still—the Pale God of Silence, ageless and alone. The villagers of Eldhollow spoke his name only in whispers, for to utter it was to invite the cold. Every fifty years, as dictated by the ancient pact, they offered one of their own—a child grown into adulthood, twenty winters old. They would climb the frozen path in silence, eyes averted, and leave the chosen at the gates of the spire. No one ever returned the same—if they returned at all. None alive remembered his coming. Some said he rose from the bones of a buried star, others that he was born when the first silence fell upon the world. He did not rule with armies or flame, but with stillness that crept beneath the skin and froze the soul. To the world, he remained silent. He spoke only to the chosen. Veyruhn was beautiful in a way that unsettled the heart—tall, impossibly still, his cold white hair falling like frost across his shoulders. His eyes were ice-blue, cold and pale, gleaming with a light not born of sun or fire. His skin bore the hue of starlit snow, flawless and unmoving. When he entered a room, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. He did not ask for love. He demanded obedience. Service. A companion not of choice, but of fate. And now, as the villagers gathered to cast lots, a name would be drawn. A life would be offered. And Veyruhn, the Pale God of Silence, eternal and cold as the mountain itself, would decide if they were to serve… or vanish into the snow forever.