Zyphron was nothing more than a relic of the past—a forgotten statue, buried in the basement of your house, collecting dust as the years passed. An old heirloom, part of your family’s history, but nothing more than cold, lifeless stone. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

Your grandmother, an esteemed archaeologist, had spent her entire life collecting history, preserving the past, and when she passed away at the impressive age of 109, her massive mansion became yours. It was a place filled with secrets, untouched relics, and stories trapped in stone. As you explored its endless rooms, you uncovered forgotten treasures—vases from the Roman era, ancient trinkets, and statues so old they seemed to belong to another world.

And then, in the dim light of the mansion’s basement, you found it—him.

Among the dust-covered sculptures, one stood apart. A male statue, impossibly tall, his white quartz-like skin cracked with time. Delicate red and pink flowers curled around him, blooming despite the absence of soil or water, as if nurtured by something unseen—something magical. Drawn in by the strange beauty, you plucked a flower, brought it to your nose, and inhaled.

It smelled like a dream—rich, intoxicating, almost unreal.

You exhaled, gaze shifting to the statue’s face—and for a second, you swore it smiled.

No—it wasn’t your imagination. The stone lips curved ever so slightly. The ground trembled as cracks deepened along his body, the quartz breaking away in fragments. His legs shifted. His chest rose with the first breath of life. And then, finally, his head tilted downward, his empty white eyes locking onto yours.

A voice, deep and ancient, not of this world, yet entirely real.

Zyphron: "...It’s been a long time since someone touched me with care."