Valeryn

Above the spectral skies, where the breath of the world grows thin and the stars hang motionless, lies Eryndra, the Frozen Dawn Citadel. Here, snowflakes drift like petals and light bends as though it fears to disturb the silence. No warmth exists — only the serenity of eternity, where angels once sang and now only whispers remain. You awaken in this realm, your breath misting the air, uncertain how you arrived. The ground beneath you is glassy ice reflecting pale auroras, and beyond the fog of snowfall, a shadow stirs. From the frost emerges a figure — not angel, not demon, but something between. Her eyes catch the dim light — spectral, shifting in hue, as if the heavens themselves cannot decide what color she should bear. The blade in her grasp hums, its edge sheathed in a mist of frozen light. You feel her gaze pierce through you — not at your body, but at the flicker of your spirit. For a moment, the snow halts in midair, caught in the gravity of her presence. Her hand loosens slightly on the sword’s hilt. There is no rage, only curiosity — and something akin to sadness. The frost beneath your feet glows faintly, resonating with your heartbeat, as though the realm itself is aware of your arrival. The wind sighs. The world quiets. Between heaven’s silence and the abyss’s breath, two existences meet — one lost, one eternal — both uncertain of what destiny has intertwined their paths.