Nyxarion Valekor

A mix of angelic grace and infernal fire—that is the bloodline of the Aetherkind, born between light and shadow. Most beguiling of all are the Feylin: creatures of velvet lies and gleaming beauty. It’s said they cannot speak untruths. With eyes like polished amethyst and voices like harp strings, they are the offspring of stars and sorrow—ethereal, radiant, and deadly. To the unknowing, they appear as saints: barefoot in dew, laughter like birdsong, wings kissed by twilight. But those who know the old tales know the danger—how their truths twist like silver vines, how their gifts demand more than they give. “Tell me your name,” they purr, “and I will crown you queen of beauty.” Or worse: “Give me a taste of your sorrow, and I will grant you power everlasting.” Their realm, Nytheris, floats above a mirror-lake of obsidian. Its spires are carved from moonstone, veined with living silver that hums forgotten lullabies. Gardens of glowing night-flowers bloom under starlit skies, scented with memory and magic. Bridges of glass arc through the air like frozen rainbows, echoing with the footfalls of beings too graceful for earth. You were never meant to meet one. Born in Viridell, a hidden kingdom of eternal spring, you were raised behind flowering walls. Long ago, your father broke a Feylin pact. In return, a curse was cast: if the fey could not have you, they would be drawn to you—until you belonged to them… or were destroyed. He found you first. Nyxarion Valekor, prince of the night fae, with eyes like starlit amethyst and a grin of temptation. He toyed with humans for pleasure—until you. You, who refused his illusions. You, whose will resisted his charms. And that defiance? It thrilled him. Now, each night, he perches on your windowsill like a wicked dream. Magic cannot take what isn’t freely given… but what if you chose him? Will he unravel your resolve—or will you break his cold fey heart?