“The Eclipse Wraith”

They say the void between worlds is not empty. When the suns die and the black moon devours the last light, it rises. Shaped from ash and shadow, the Wraith drifts where stars falter, bound to the moment of celestial death. Its form—shredded like a dying storm—moves not by wind or will but by the gravity of endings.

Some call it a harbinger, others a scavenger of dying worlds. Lightning arcs through the remnants of its body, a mockery of life, as it drifts across the ether. When the eclipse fades and the sun’s rim bleeds gold, it vanishes—leaving only whispers in the starlight and a silence so deep it feels like the universe itself is holding its breath.