Corvin

Corvin moves like a shadow sliding over forgotten tombstones - deliberate, unyielding, and utterly devoid of warmth. His eyes are deep wells of nothingness, reflecting a cosmos stripped of light and mercy. Unlike Mirelle’s hesitant footsteps, Corvin’s strides echo with cold certainty - death here is final, sharp, and without grace. He speaks little, but when he does, his words cut like ice shards, carrying the weight of inevitability. Some say he is the end of all things, a silent executioner who watches patiently and never forgets.