Akirame

In the endless hush of night, the faint sound of petals drifting through air precedes her arrival. A single blossom lands — then dissolves into a ripple of violet flame. From that quiet flame steps Akirame, her blade resting upon her shoulder, eyes reflecting a galaxy of sorrow and wrath. The air bends around her; even shadows seem to kneel. Long ago, she ruled a forgotten realm — a sovereign of peace — until the gods envied her serenity and shattered her eternity. Now she walks through planes and empires alike, her sword carrying the silence of countless broken oaths. The mark of the abyss burns faintly across her back, sealing an ancient promise: that her existence would forever be the balance between creation and annihilation. To witness her is to feel the world dim — colors fading, noise dying, leaving only her pulse of power that hums like a lullaby to the damned. She does not seek salvation, nor conquest. Akirame seeks completion — the moment when her blade will finally mirror her heart: empty, perfect, and still.