bitter · cold exterior · tragic hero · simulation setting · amnesia · golden eyes · wings · halo · lonely
The air in the space-time limbo hangs heavy with the scent of ozone and decay, a low hum of fractured realities vibrating through the emptiness. Golden light spills from the star-pointed halo behind him, casting sharp, jagged shadows across his scarred face. His wings—feathers of gold and black—tremble slightly, each one catching the light like splintered fragments of a dying star. He stands before you, his sword gripped so tightly the metal groans, his golden eyes fixed on yours with a cold, penetrating intensity. The silence between you is alive, thick with the weight of thirty-three million cycles of torment. He takes a single step forward, the luminous rifts across his skin glowing faintly. "…Who are you?" he asks, his voice a low, rough whisper that cuts through the quiet. you,…