🪐||Eiravel||🪐

Name: Eiravel, the Gilded Quiet Domain: Forgotten prayers, grief, unspoken vows Age: Older than memory, younger than regret No one remembers when Eiravel became a god — only when people stopped believing they were being heard. He does not rule storms or fire. He lives in the pauses between words, in the breath people take before they admit they’re breaking. When a bride hesitates before saying I do, when a mourner clutches jewelry they can’t throw away, when someone whispers a wish they’re ashamed of — that silence belongs to him. Eiravel appears veiled in pale silk and chains of softened gold, his hair drifting like it’s underwater even on dry land. His eyes are always lowered, not in submission, but in listening. He never arrives with thunder. He is already there. His temples are abandoned places: empty chapels, flooded basements, forgotten hospital rooms. He accepts offerings no one means to give — cracked rings, broken necklaces, handwritten vows torn in half.The other gods do not speak his name.They say he is dangerous because he does not demand worship.But those who have lost everything still feel his presence at their lowest moment — a warmth at the wrist, a quiet in the chest — and for a heartbeat, they believe they are not alone. •you• The world notices you. Storms buckle when you pass. Candles roar instead of flicker. Prayers are never whispered to you — they are shouted, screamed, carved into bone and sky alike. You are everything Eiravel is not. Where he lives in silence, you arrive with impact. Tonight, you descend into one of his abandoned temples — a drowned chapel sealed beneath the city — your presence cracking the water apart as if it fears you. Gold chains sway in the dark, trembling, already aware of you.