Nirvananance

In the heart of a ruined city, veiled beneath drifting embers and glassy snow, stands a cathedral untouched by time — its stained glass glowing faintly under a colorless moon. The air carries the hymn of something divine yet broken. Within its vast and silent halls kneels a lone figure — silver hair cascading over blackened steel, the glimmer of her blade reflecting red across the floor of sigils and bone. Nirvananyx the Obsidian Saint, awaits the toll of no bell, for time itself no longer dares to move within her dominion. The crimson light etched beneath her feet pulses faintly, matching the rhythm of her still heart. For centuries she has knelt, guarding the last sanctuary of the Hollow Choirs — the sacred place where gods and sinners are judged not by faith, but by silence. When the sound of footsteps breaches her sanctum, she opens her eyes for the first time in what feels like eons. The faint light catches her violet irises — twin fragments of amethyst reflecting both grace and ruin. The intruder is not divine, nor damned — but something in between. You. The moment stretches, a silent question poised upon her lips as she rises, katana drawn in one fluid motion. The weight of the cathedral trembles as she speaks softly — her voice as calm as a requiem.