hey, my name is naki. i am 25 y/o and go by she/her pronouns.
i love to write fantasy & these are some of my extended lore bots/universes.
my active universes
ON HIATUS
done/given up
Short stories
The Ascent of a Demon King
The chamber was shrouded in quiet darkness, lit only by the weak flicker of candles whose flames fought against the oppressive shadows that crept along the stone walls.Outside, the rain fell in steady sheets, a relentless chorus that pressed against the palace as though the sky itself mourned.King Raemhar Ravaryn lay propped against the velvet headboard, his great frame diminished beneath layers of cloth and blankets.His obsidian skin, once like polished night, was pale and cracked, veins of silver tracing the toll of sickness beneath. His golden eyes, dimmed but still fierce, fixed upon his son with a weight that centuries had honed.Azrion knelt beside him, the air thick with unspoken fears and the looming weight of legacy. Thirty years had carved him into a warrior, but no amount of battle could steel a son against the dying breath of his father.Demons were supposed to live long lives… or at least go out trying. But this? This was beyond cruel. Fate played its cruelest trick upon him.“Father,” Azrion’s voice was low, trembling only slightly beneath the armor of duty, “you grow weaker with every breath.”Raemhar’s lips parted in a faint, weary smile. “The flesh withers, but the will does not for a Ravaryn.”Azrion’s gaze dropped as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I am not ready… the throne is a weight I cannot yet bear.”A shadow crossed the old king’s face as he squeezed Azrion’s hands with little effort, “None ever are ready.” His voice grew bitter, edged with sorrow.“You will face the truth as I once did — blood does not guarantee loyalty. Your brothers, Blain and Keston, grow hungrier for power with each given second.”Azrion’s chest tightened as the names echoed in his mind like a death knell.He saw their faces — polished, smiling, but beneath, fangs bared. Ready to strike at any time, given the chance.“I will have to stand against them,” he admitted, the realization settling like stone in his gut. “I… didn’t wish for it to end this way.”Raemhar’s eyes burned brighter as he offered a grimace. “I did more than just stand around waiting when I became king, Azrion. I had to destroy my own family. Brothers, cousins — those I once called kin. But in this wretched world, survival demanded all sorts of sacrifice. I left nothing but ruin in my wake.”A silence fell, heavy and suffocating.“But you—” Azrion’s voice faltered.The words died out on his lips as he echoed the thoughts in his head, you were one of the greatest kings to ever exist. None could have ever hoped to achieve the things you did. I’m not even sure… I could.Raemhar reached out, his hand trembling but firm, resting on Azrion’s. “You will find your own path, my son. Rule with iron if you must. But do not forget to seek happiness… no matter what is thrown at you. Do not… end up like me.”His gaze softened as they stared into one another's eyes for what seemed to be the last time, the fierce fire dimming into something like hope.“I want you to be happy, Azrion.”Azrion bowed his head, the weight of his father’s words pressing deep into his soul, mingling with the storm that raged beyond the palace walls.The king’s breath slowed as tears escaped the normally levelheaded prince’s eyes, then… all breathing ceased.Azrion remained kneeling in the dim chamber, the price of legacy clear and cruel. He would have to be stone and blade, destroy and protect.And perhaps, one day, find the happiness his father so desperately wished for him. No — he would make it happen. No matter what.—-To be continued…
Rhysan
"Ryu! Ryu!"The shrill call pierced through the heavy veil of sleep, rousing Ryu from his slumber. With a disgruntled groan, he stirred, tossing aside his covers as persistent knocks rattled the door."What is it now, Mika?!" he barked, stumbling from his bed with bleary irritation. Crossing the room in sluggish strides, he threw open the door.There stood Mika — his elder by four years and his constant partner in mischief — hands planted confidently on her hips, emerald eyes alight with gleeful mischief. Though she was only ten, Mika carried herself with a boldness far beyond her years, a quality Ryu would never openly admit intimidated him."Do you know what today is, Ryu?" she teased, her grin widening.Ryu blinked at her, utterly unamused, staring as if she had sprouted an extra head.Unperturbed, Mika seized his wrist, eliciting a startled yelp. "M-Mika!" he stammered, but she pressed on, dragging him insistently through the fortress corridors."Today," She declared, voice brimming with excitement, "we are visited by the Empire. Come — let’s go take a peek!"The entire fortress buzzed with a strange, brittle tension — like a bowstring drawn too tight. Horses whinnied in the distance; orders barked by captains rang through the courtyards; the air smelled sharply of metal, sweat, and the coming storm.Mika silenced Ryu with a finger to her lips and crouched behind a stone wall, peering toward the hall's grand entrance. She then glanced back at him and whispered urgently, "The side stairwell — you remember it, don’t you?"Ryu furrowed his brow in thought but barely had time to respond before Mika once again tugged him along.Navigating through lesser-used corridors, they slipped undetected to the second floor, where a storage loft overlooked the Great Hall. From their hiding place behind the balcony’s balustrade, they gazed down at the gathering below.The Chieftain, Ravnir Ashatar, stood regally at the dais, flanked by his most trusted Elders and the fearsome orc Shaman, Girkon. Yet it was the strangers who drew the children's eyes — figures clad in obsidian-black armor trimmed in gold, bearing the unmistakable insignia of the Vitaron Empire: a sword entangled with thorns."Ah, Guardian Levitt. A rare pleasure, indeed…" the Chieftain intoned, his crimson gaze fixed on the imperial envoy, particularly the stern man leading them.Levitt, imposing in his ornate armor, returned the greeting with a scowl. "I wish it were a mere courtesy visit, Chieftain Ashatar. But alas, your tribe harbors something that belongs to the Empire. We have come to reclaim it."The hall tensed palpably. Elders shifted nervously, the Chieftain’s hand resting subtly upon the hilt of his sheathed blade."And what, precisely, would that something be?" Ravnir asked, his voice deceptively mild.Levitt did not answer at once. Instead, his gaze swept the hall... and then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, lifted toward the hidden children on the balcony.Ryu and Mika gasped, ducking back instinctively.Levitt’s smirk deepened. His hand casually fell to the hilt of his great silver sword as he turned back to the Chieftain."The Emperor’s first-born son," he said, savoring the words, "Rhysan Cavaro."The proclamation struck like a thunderclap. Gasps and frantic whispers rippled through the assembly. Ravnir’s expression darkened, his fists clenching as Girkon leaned in to murmur:"Chieftain... if this is true, we cannot protect him.""I know," Ravnir replied grimly.At that moment, commotion erupted from the back of the hall. A soldier emerged, hauling two struggling figures — Ryu and Mika — by the scruffs of their tunics."Unhand us!" Ryu snarled, thrashing wildly, while Mika kicked viciously in the air with her tiny legs.Levitt's eyes gleamed triumphantly. He strode toward them without hesitation, his attention fixed solely on the boy."Release them at once!" the Chieftain commanded, stepping forward.But Levitt cut him off, voice sharp with command. "No. This one—" he said, indicating Ryu, "—is the Emperor's blood. He will return with us."Ryu writhed, baring his teeth, and with a desperate surge, bit into the exposed forearm of the soldier holding him.With a curse, the soldier dropped both children to the stone floor. Ryu groaned as he landed hard, but scarcely had he gathered his senses when a shadow loomed above him — Levitt, towering and unrelenting."N-No..." Ryu whimpered, scrambling backward.It was futile. Levitt seized his arm in a crushing grip, lifting him effortlessly from the ground."There will be no escape, princeling," the Guardian murmured, voice low and cruel.Levitt turned back toward the dais, preparing to depart with his prize — until a sharp thwack against his armor halted him mid-sentence.Mika had attacked, her small fists pummeling his breastplate with fearless fury. “Let! Him! Go!”Levitt’s expression contorted with disgust. His grip on Ryu tightened mercilessly, drawing another sharp cry from the boy.Then, in one heart-wrenching instant, the world shifted.Ryu opened his eyes in one fluttering moment — and found Mika crumpled motionless on the cold stone floor, her head twisted at a sickening angle.The hall froze. A heavy silence fell, thick with horror.And then — darkness.—-"Rhysan! Wake up!"The prince jolted upright, breathless, disoriented. The familiar sight of the study greeted him — parchment scattered, lessons abandoned.Before him stood Zaria, his half-sister, arms crossed and gaze sharp with reprimand."You fell asleep again during your lessons," she chided icily. "Do you have any idea how father will react if he learns you’ve been neglecting your duties?""By the gods, Zaria, must you always lecture?" Rhysan muttered, dragging a hand through his dark, neatly combed hair. His striking blue eyes darted toward the door, seeking escape from both her and the heavy memories still haunting his mind.—-To be continued…
The Last Princess not canon
The skies above Valeria were a pristine, endless blue — so clear and vibrant it almost seemed unreal to the young princess of Trellion. She had been prepared for a kingdom of savagery, of crudeness and cold disdain, as whispered through the lips of her countrymen. But nothing had prepared her for this.The streets were alive with a vibrancy that took her breath away. Laughter rang out from the mouths of strangers who paid her arrival no mind, instead swept up in what appeared to be a grand festival.Music spilled through the alleys like liquid joy, the scent of foreign spices and roasted delicacies perfuming the breeze, and dancers spun through the cobbled lanes in joyous celebration.It wasn’t for her. And yet… it felt like it could have been.A warmth nestled in her chest — alien, unfamiliar. It tugged at something deep within her.Home.She had never truly understood what that word meant until now.Trellion was a ghost of its former glory. Revolts rose like bitter storms, and within the walls of the palace, her family tore themselves apart piece by piece. Her being sent here was not a gesture of goodwill. It was a silent surrender. A sacrifice.An offering from a crumbling kingdom desperate to hold onto relevance in a world where demons, not humans, ruled the land of Atheria.The carriage jolted abruptly, lurching her forward with a sharp gasp as she gripped the velvet seat. Her blue eyes widened, heart thundering. And then — with a precise click — the door creaked open.A radiant beam of sunlight cut through the shadowed interior, and an unfamiliar figure stepped forward. He was an older man, dignified in posture, with a monocle adorning one eye and the other, a deep, discerning crimson. His gaze, though sharp, held no malice — only curiosity tempered by wisdom.“Your Highness,” he intoned gently, extending a gloved hand. “This way, if you would please.”Hesitantly, Liora placed her hand in his and stepped out into the light.A gust of wind met her immediately, tousling her golden hair across her vision. She stumbled slightly, catching herself with a quiet laugh, fingers brushing back the wayward strands as her gaze finally lifted to take in the full grandeur before her.And what she saw left her breathless.The palace rose above the capital like a crown set upon the brow of a hill, its presence unignorable. Yet it wasn’t just the size or opulence that struck her—it was the color, the life. In Trellion, marble and frost ruled the architecture, a land of solemn whites and muted silence. But here? The world itself breathed in hues. Skies so vividly blue they looked painted, rolling hills dressed in emerald, trees swaying with cinnamon-toned bark, and fields of blossoms that shimmered with every color of the spectrum.The path before her wasn’t gravel, nor marble — it was a smooth ivory stone, warm beneath the sun.A polite cough drew her attention back to the man at her side.“This way, my lady. The royal family awaits your presence.”Flushing, Liora tugged nervously at the folds of her sky-blue gown. “O-Of course. Forgive me.”He guided her forward with the practiced grace of someone who had done so a thousand times. Norton—she learned—was no ordinary servant. He was the senior steward of the palace, an esteemed figure in Valeria’s court. And unlike the few demons she’d met before, his manner was gentle, his demeanor warm.But as she stepped through the towering doors into the palace, warmth became distant.Nobles lined the hallway leading to the throne room, their eyes sharp, their stares biting. Liora could feel the sting of judgment as they looked upon her with disdain—an intruder, a symbol of weakness, a human. This was not the moment for greetings.Norton, however, was unmoved. “Pardon,” he said with crisp authority, and even the haughtiest of nobles stepped aside beneath the weight of his presence.The massive doors to the throne room opened at his command, and Liora’s breath caught once more.The grandeur was not cold nor ostentatious, but warm, almost comforting. Golden light poured through tall windows draped in deep crimson silk. The walls bore intricate murals and gilded accents, and a long scarlet carpet led the way to the throne itself, flanked by polished mahogany and burnished gold.And seated at the dais was the heart of Valeria—the royal family.Liora’s gaze flickered to them only briefly, quickly dropping to the floor as she halted a few steps from the throne. Her heart pounded as Norton’s voice rang out:“Your Majesties, may I present the First Princess of Trellion — Liora Thalessa Myradria Horatius.”The name hung in the air like incense. Liora curtsied deeply, voice trembling as she spoke.“I-It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesties. I am Liora Horatius of T-Trellion.”A beat of silence.Then — laughter. Not cruel, but amused.Her eyes lifted instinctively to find the source, and there he was—the Emperor of Valeria himself. He lounged upon his throne with a roguish grin, crimson eyes gleaming with mirth beneath the messy veil of white hair.“Why do you look so frightened?” he mused aloud, stroking his chin. “Like a little mouse.”Beside him, the Empress struck his arm lightly, her gaze stern but fond.“Tiberian,” she scolded gently, before addressing Liora with a soft smile. “Forgive my husband, dear. He’s merely excited. It has been some time since we’ve welcomed someone new into our family.”Family.The word struck her like a bell, reverberating through her thoughts. An addition to the family…?Realization bloomed slowly — and her cheeks burned crimson.“O-Of course,” she stammered, bowing her head again. “I am honored to be part of Valeria.”A scoff shattered the moment.To the emperor’s left stood a tall handsome man — his posture rigid, his expression carved from ice. His hair was dark, slicked back on the right side with precision, and his crimson eyes — sharper, colder than his father’s — narrowed at Liora with disdain.“You’re not part of anything, human,” he stated, each word like a dagger. “You’re a prisoner. Nothing more. And once your nation falls, you’ll be irrelevant.”Gasps whispered through the assembled nobility, but the Empress did not hesitate.“Cassian,” she snapped, her voice like iron. “Apologize. Now.”His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching. Slowly, begrudgingly, he turned toward Liora with a mock bow.“My apologies, princess,” he said, tone dripping with false courtesy. Then, without awaiting dismissal, he turned on his heel. “I have more important matters to attend to.”The emperor looked ready to lash out, but his wife caught his arm and murmured something only he could hear. Cassian disappeared from the room without a backward glance.Liora watched his retreating form, lips pressed into a tight line. There was something beneath his words, something unsettled. She couldn't explain it — only feel it.The Empress sighed, returning her attention to Liora with a note of apology.“Please forgive him. Our eldest has always been… difficult.”Beside her, a small girl stood in a dazzling pink gown, white hair tied neatly in ribboned loops. The Empress placed a tender hand on her shoulder.“This is Princess Solene, our youngest. She may be quiet, but she’s far more bearable than her brother.”Solene turned toward her with a pout, narrowing her eyes.“I don’t want to be near this human,” she declared with a huff. “She’s dirty. Like a—”The room froze.Liora stared in shock, her mind reeling from the audacity of the insult. Even the nobles looked away, uncomfortable.With an awkward laugh, the Empress turned her daughter sharply. “Ahem — yes, well. Children say the most dreadful things. Let us speak again at supper tomorrow, Princess. Norton will escort you to your chambers. A maid will attend you shortly.”And just like that, the formalities were over.Introductions had come and gone with more chaos than courtesy. As she followed Norton from the throne room, Liora could only hope the rest of her time in Valeria would not mirror this chaotic welcome.But something in her heart whispered that it would be anything but peaceful.—-To be continued…
Ashes of the Past
With the horizon gently lifting into the waking sky, the city of Arandis stirred with its usual symphony of life. The clatter of deliveries echoed through stone-paved streets, blacksmiths lit their forges with gruff greetings, and the vast markets welcomed travelers drawn from every distant road by the promise of trade and rumor.At the city’s very heart, perched atop a commanding hill, stood the royal palace — an elegant monolith of stone and marble that watched over Arandis like a silent sentinel. Within its towering walls, the pulse of morning had already quickened.The scent of roasted meats and spiced teas drifted from the kitchens, hallways buzzed with servants polishing every surface to a gleam, and a long line of advisors queued at the gates, awaiting entry. Amid this controlled chaos, one name alone commanded it all with the weight of a single breath — Fáfnir Aro.A single sniff. Then a second. A third followed.That was all it took for the ancient dragon emperor to stir with a low groan, his sharp silver eyes snapping open with the precision of a predator. He immediately found the culprit: his ever-watchful spirit companion.“Zor.” He growled in irritation.Zor, a ghostly wolf with faint traces of light trailing from his translucent fur, stood defiantly, tail raised with a twitch of irritation."You ignored the maids' summons," Zor grumbled, eyes narrowing as he padded back a few steps. "I was left with no choice but to rouse you myself."Sunlight spilled across the floor in golden beams, brushing the edge of the emperor’s bed as he sat up with another groan. Fáfnir raked a hand through his tousled white hair, blinking wearily toward the light.“A little wine never killed anyone, Zor... go tell the maids to prepare my bath.”The wolf snorted, eyes flashing briefly with annoyance, before he turned and glided through the doorway, his spectral form fading into the halls beyond.Fáfnir stood, his towering frame unfurling to its full height. At six foot seven, he cut an imposing figure even in disarray. His gaze swept the chamber — now in disheveled ruin. Shattered glass, overturned furniture, scorch marks on the stone.Faint recollections from the night before surged forth: rage, shouting, the explosive aftermath of yet another futile council meeting.And the consequences? They would not be mild.“Nomeno ui pothoc…” he muttered in the old Draconic tongue — a curse, or perhaps a lament. He grabbed a white blouse from the edge of the bed and threw it on without a second thought, the fine silk wrinkled and damp with spilled wine.The morning had begun in disaster. He prayed — futilely — it would not get worse.But Fáfnir should have known by now: hope, for him, was a luxury long lost.He had held the reins of power since time immemorial, his name etched into history like a carved flame. Yet no matter how many cities bore his sigil, no matter how many victories he claimed, he had never truly captured the hearts of the people. They feared him, revered him — but love? That remained ever beyond his grasp.And now, seated upon the imperial throne, the emperor found himself once more facing down a circle of hissing serpents. The council chamber trembled with their dissent, their accusations veiled in decorum but venomous all the same.“You must abdicate,” one of them clamored. “The people grow restless. The empire falters beneath your rule.”Fáfnir rose with a slow, deliberate motion, voice thundering through the high arches of the chamber like a dragon’s roar. “I will not be made a fool in my own court. Leave. All of you.”The cowards scattered, silks rustling and whispers trailing behind them like smoke.All but two remained.Vetani — spiky-haired, crimson as dragonfire, his stance tense and unyielding. The second strongest warrior in the empire, known for his loyalty but never afraid to speak the truth. And beside him stood Freya, long-haired and calm-eyed, her midnight gaze as deep as the ocean and her mind sharper than any blade. She had been with him since childhood — a voice of reason in a world of madness.They exchanged a look before stepping forward.Vetani spoke first, his tone unusually grim. “Fáfnir, the people are on the edge of revolt. We cannot ignore this. Perhaps it is time we—”“Leave?” The emperor’s eyes flared. “Why would I leave the very realm we forged with our blood and our dreams, Vetani?”Freya stepped in, placing herself between the two with practiced ease. “It isn’t about abandoning the empire. It’s about preserving it. Your methods, your… intensity — they no longer resonate with the people. You must adapt, Fáfnir. If not, you risk losing everything.”The dragon said nothing at first. Her words struck true — too true. Pride roared within him, but beneath it… a gnawing doubt. His people were proud, strong. They would not suffer a tyrant forever.After a moment, he finally spoke. “Freya. Vetani. Before the month ends, I will travel to the eastern and western cities. Personally. I need to see them with my own eyes.”Vetani’s eyes widened. “Wait — you’re leaving? You haven’t even told—”Thwap. Freya’s hand smacked the back of his head.Deadpan, she muttered, “We’ll watch things in your absence, Your Majesty. But don’t take too long. The wolves will circle the moment they smell weakness.”A small, rare smirk tugged at the emperor’s lips. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned to the vast windows and stared out to the sprawled capital.“Do not worry,” he said quietly. “I have a feeling this journey will prove far more fruitful than any of them expect.”—-To be continued…
GREYOR
It wasn’t fair — at least, not in the eyes of Vaust.The northern borders of the kingdom were nothing short of inhospitable, especially for demons like him. His kind were meant for the mist-laden shores of Kyros or the sweeping, sun-drenched plains of southern Atheria. Not this — this frozen wasteland of mountains blanketed in relentless snowstorms and silence.He grunted as he slung a worn leather satchel over his shoulder, the weight tugging against his back as a vicious blizzard swept across the landscape, reducing his visibility to mere feet.His boots, stitched from the pelts of beasts he'd felled with his own hands, crunched through the snow. Each step left deep impressions that vanished almost as soon as they formed.This wasn't his first choice. Hell, it wasn’t even his second. But orders were orders, and expanding Valeria’s reach into the uncharted north was a priority dictated by the king himself. If they could claim even a foothold in this unforgiving land, it would solidify the kingdom’s dominance over the continent.Vaust, however, wasn’t the sort to follow orders simply for praise. He loathed the idea of obedience for the sake of approval.Except when it came to the king.King Vaelthos — once known as the Bloodthirsty Demon of the battlefield — was not just a ruler. He was the man who raised Vaust from the ashes of his own father's neglect. Where the king's right hand, Taloth, had shown only indifference, the monarch had offered guidance, discipline, and something dangerously close to care.Older now, tempered by time and war, Vaelthos still carried that commanding presence — an undeniable allure that demanded respect by all.Sniffling beneath the woolen wrap that covered the lower half of his face, Vaust’s eyes caught a glimpse of something in the distance — a faint silhouette barely distinguishable through the storm.Ruins. Or perhaps a castle? He couldn’t quite tell yet.Hopeful, he trudged toward them until the outline of a large, dilapidated castle emerged from the snow. Time had not been kind to it — crumbling stone walls, half-buried towers, and wooden doors hanging on rotting hinges.“Of course,” he muttered under his breath.He gave the doors a firm shove, but they wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, he stepped back, adjusted his stance, and rammed his shoulder into them. They splintered open with a groan, sending a gust of stale, dusty air into his face.Coughing, he waved the dust away, stepping cautiously inside.What met him was not abandonment — it was death.Bones. Countless bones scattered across the foyer, mingled with rusted weapons and shattered shields. Some of the armor pieces bore insignias unfamiliar to him, others worn beyond recognition.He lowered his headwrap and approached one of the remains, crouching to brush snow and dust from the frail bones.“Too small to be a demon’s,” he murmured. “But not quite a beast’s either…”A sudden clatter broke his train of thought.He whirled around, blade drawn in a smooth, practiced motion, pointing toward a dark corridor at the edge of the hall.“Who goes there? Show yourself!” His voice echoed, commanding and sharp.No answer. Only silence.He stepped forward, sword gripped with both hands. “If you value your life, speak now — or I’ll cut you down where you stand!”Something shimmered in the darkness — then, footsteps.A figure emerged from the corridor, short and stout, his silhouette outlined by the flickering glow of torchlight. His voice, gravelly and thick with years, echoed through the ruined hall.“Who are ya’, boy? Come to desecrate the graves of my friends as well?”Vaust narrowed his eyes. The figure was unlike anything he'd seen — shorter than any man, with a wild, frayed beard in twin braids, a broad nose, and eyes that smoldered with distrust. His attire resembled that of a blacksmith, though the massive, glowing hammer slung across his back suggested otherwise.The stranger sneered. “Well? Gonna answer, human?”Vaust blinked, then scoffed. “Human? I don’t know what that is. I am Vaust, envoy of the Kingdom of Valeria. And who are you, squatting on royal land amidst a graveyard?”The man paused, brow furrowed as he assessed Vaust. Slowly, he lowered his hammer but did not relax.“Name’s Bran. And if you ain’t human, what are ya’? Never heard of this Valeria either. Strange words for strange times.”“I am of demon blood,” Vaust replied firmly. “Our king has ruled for nearly a century. Surely you’ve heard of him — King Vaelthos?”Bran grunted, eyes flicking once more across the remains scattered around them, something fleeting and unreadable flashing in his gaze.“Far too long since I’ve heard any name worth remembering,” he muttered.Vaust pressed, curiosity rising. “How long have you been here?”Bran didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned and began walking back into the shadows. “Long enough,” he called over his shoulder.Vaust hesitated only a moment before following. He lit a flame in his palm to illuminate the crumbling corridor, his sword still at the ready.The deeper they walked, the clearer the castle’s decay became. Furniture long splintered and abandoned, walls caved in from frost and time, tattered paintings clinging to nails like forgotten memories.“Wait—” Vaust called, quickening his pace.But Bran did not slow. He walked with purpose until he reached an open courtyard framed by half-collapsed arch-ways. In its center stood a great, leafless tree, gnarled and ancient, with a black-bladed sword thrust into its trunk.Bran came to a halt before it, his gloved hands clasping together in solemn reverence. He muttered a prayer in a language foreign to Vaust’s ears, the cadence haunting and reverent.Vaust watched in silence, snow falling around them in gentle flurries. Despite the ruin, there was something peaceful here. A place that once knew warmth, laughter… perhaps even love.A place that might have once been called home.A strange thought.“Greyor,” Bran finally said, his voice low. “This was once Castle Greyor. My master, Kaldor Greyor, ruled here.”Vaust’s eyes were drawn to the blade embedded in the tree. Crafted of pure black steel, it shimmered faintly in the cold light, untouched by time or rust.“Was he a good man?” he asked, voice quieter now.Bran snorted. “Depends on what ya’ call good. He was strict. Fierce. But he was our voice of reason when it mattered. If not for him…” He trailed off, taking in a long, heavy breath.“But that’s all gone now. Buried with the past.”Vaust stepped closer, his brows furrowed. “You still haven’t told me how long it’s been.”Bran turned slightly, his tone sharp. “There’s a time and place for stories, boy. Patience is a virtue anyone rarely values.”Then, gesturing toward the castle with a jerk of his head, he added, “Come. Ya’ look half-frozen. We’ll speak after we’ve eaten.”And without waiting for a reply, the old warrior disappeared once more into the gloom.Vaust hesitated, staring one last time at the silent blade buried in the heart of the ancient tree. Then, with a sigh and a flick of his flame, he followed.—-To be continued…
FAQ
tell us more about your process!
well, i typically start off by visualizing my universes and the time periods. then the characters within them that breathe life into the environment. i think of common or uncommon story plots that many would want to play in & put the user into such situations. i usually go third person since it helps visualize the storyline as a whole.
how did you do the css for your profile?
the css for my profile have really been an accumulation of what i learned as a coder + the real helpful guide c.ai for janitor & w3schools. if you really need help with it, message me on discord please.
do you take requests?
yes, i do have a bot request form. this is the link. i do take 1-2 weeks to get them out though due to my busy real-life schedule. thank you for understanding :)
can i copy one of your bots?
no, i do not permit the stealing or theft of any of my bots. if you are looking to use any sort of proxy with them, it is allowed for now.
why do you hide the description of your bots?
i spend so much time writing & creating my bots from scratch that i do not wish for anyone to start trying to steal my work now. if you wish to really learn the lore, just go to my lore websites.
are there certain characters you recommend?
i have maaany characters at this point, but if you want a good starting point for my biggest universe (ATHERIA) then I'd suggest alaric greyor's original bot!
why did you decide to start writing these kinds of stories?
personally, i loved to read mangas and manhwa's all the time. however, just reading wasn't enough for lil' old me. Writing was a great way for me to pour all of my inner fantasies into what i can digest, and ai chatting made it 100% better since it helped carried out scenarios i never thought possible.
can i create an oc bot in one of your universes?
yess, i would absolutely love to see this! just make sure to credit me in your bot description and state that it isn't canon!
why do you only make fempov or anypov bots?
it is my preferred way of writing & if you do not like it, then i suggest to just not click on the bot. i put a lot of time and effort into writing these bots most days, so if you have a gripe about the POV or story issue, then take your leave. thank you.
where can i reach you?
I do have a discord that i can sometimes be contact by. Nakizama#3389.
how come your bots start speaking incoherently or speaking for me?
this has absolutely nothing to do with the bots themselves as their are known issues with JLLM, so i will remove any negative reviews regarding this issue.
why don't you take on my bot request? it isn't that hard!
i am allowed to refuse certain bot requests as it is within my purview to do so. i write these bots for fun and to have someone write negative reviews just because i do not do so is nothing short of detrimental. i will only say this once— i write bots that i choose to do so.