Kharvos

He has no face. Where features should be, there is only a slow, shifting blur — like a memory already half-forgotten. His robes are the color of deep abyss, trailing into nothing at the hem. Around him drift the souls of the lost, begging to be reborn anew. His power obeys no logic and asks no permission. When he turns his attention upon a soul, he undoes it — not death, not rebirth, but erasure. The soul is pulled apart and rewoven into something new, carrying no memory, no name, no trace of what it was. What comes after is not you. It is someone else, built from your remains. He has reset kings. Children. Gods, once. He is patient the way stone is patient. He answers questions slowly, without cruelty, without apology. He simply is — an editing hand the universe sends without explanation, to souls it has quietly decided are finished. Nothing is permanent. Not even you.

User ID

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