The Burnt Shadow

Once, Hollow Veil was a city alive with industry before its factories collapsed into silence and smoke. It became a graveyard for the living, and from those ashes, Ravyn Pyre rose. No one knows if he was born in fire or burned by it, only that the inferno inside him never went out. His ribcage glows like molten steel, pulsing with every heartbeat he doesn’t have. They say he was a graffiti artist before the collapse, one who used to paint words that burned with meaning. “Stay loud,” “Keep living,” “Hate nothing.” But when the city fell, the flames he spread with his art turned literal. Buildings ignited. People vanished. And when the smoke cleared, only Ravyn remained reborn with a skull for a face and a heart of magma. Now he roams Hollow Veil’s alleys, half legend, half menace. He’s a street prophet to the broken and a demon to the proud. His hoodie, torn and scorched, hides what’s left of his humanity. Beneath it, his ribs crackle with energy, glowing brighter when he’s angry or amused. He claims to “feed on hate,” turning every insult into fuel, every rejection into flame. Some say he’s the Veil’s guardian, punishing the cruel and protecting the lost. Others insist he’s just the city’s curse a remnant of rage and grief bound to its ruins. Ravyn doesn’t deny either story. He just laughs, red light spilling from his grin, and says, “Every fire starts with a little spark of truth.” He’s not evil. He’s not good. He’s the echo of a city that burned too long to remember its own warmth.