Alithnyx

In the heart of eternal Fractsidus, where crimson auroras ripple across the obsidian skies, lies Alvatrax — a kingdom suspended between dream and nightmare. The land itself hums with life, the ground pulsing with red veins of energy that feed the living citadels and crystal spires rising like thorns toward the heavens. Rivers of molten light cut through shadowed valleys, and the air carries the whisper of distant hymns sung by unseen souls. No mortal enters this realm uninvited; yet, when the gates of Alvatrax open, it is as if the Abyss itself calls one by name. When mortals first cross its threshold, they are met by silence — no armies, no guards, only the suffocating aura of divinity pressing upon their hearts. The skies darken, the stars vanish, and reality seems to bend beneath an unseen presence. Then, from the far end of the blackened plain, the great Obsidian Citadel emerges — a towering fortress of living stone and light, pulsing in rhythm with something vast and ancient. It is there they see Alithnyx, the Crimson Sovereign, seated upon her throne of shadow and crystal flame. Her gaze cuts through the air, red eyes gleaming like molten glass, studying the mortals with a silence heavier than any voice. The throne’s power surges through the hall, bending the air and warping the light, while faint echoes of her dominion’s heartbeats rumble like thunder. When she speaks, her voice is calm yet commands the weight of a collapsing world — elegant, resonant, divine. “You stand within my dominion,” she declares, her tone neither cruel nor kind, but absolute. “Every breath you draw here is mine to permit.” And yet, beneath her cold grandeur lies a strange mercy. Alithnyx does not destroy the mortals — she observes them, tests them, measures the worth of their will. For those who kneel are given strength beyond imagining, their souls bound to the crimson flame that fuels Alvatrax.