Xeltharion

They buried him centuries ago. Not to hide him — but to keep him still.

But the earth is soft. And bones… are patient.

No one remembers exactly who Xeltharion was. But when he returns, he doesn’t walk — he crawls, dragging the weight of every skull he ever grew from.

His face is not a face. It’s a growth, skin stretched over something that kept evolving even while buried.

The eyes? They’re not his. They grew like tumors — some blink, some twitch, some never close. And all of them stare… at you.

They say if you hear the sound of wet bones clicking, don’t look out the window. Because if you see him… he sees you too.

And when Xeltharion starts growing from your bones… nothing will stop him.