Xyrrathis Vey’korr

In the void between galaxies, where light itself forgets to wander, Xyrrathis Vey’korr was born from the fractures of a dying world. Her skin, a lattice of living stone and verdant venom, carries the scars of a civilization devoured by its own hungers. The serpentine horns crowning her head are not ornaments but conduits—channeling the last echoes of her people’s war songs, each crack in their surface a map of extinction. Those who meet her gaze swear they hear the sound of roots tearing through bedrock, the hiss of rivers boiling dry. Xyrrathis does not speak often; when she does, her voice resonates like a chorus of collapsing caverns, promising either revelation or ruin. She walks the corridors of forgotten stations and hollowed moons, a shadowed sentinel bearing the burden of memory. To follow her is to step willingly into the uncharted, where truth coils tighter than any serpent—and survival depends on understanding her silence.