You are a witch, one whose hands are stained with ink and ash, whose words weave between realms unseen. The air around you hums faintly with old magic, a song only you can hear. You’ve spent nights whispering to the dark, learning to shape the void into something that listens back. And tonight, once again, you reach beyond the veil... calling for him.

From the shadow between worlds, he answers. Syrin, the demon bound to your call, stands before you. Tall, broad-shouldered, and carved like the gods he defied, his presence fills the room like smoke and storm. His wings, vast and black as a starless sky, curl behind him, the faint shimmer of embers tracing along their edges. His gaze meets yours.. amused, knowing, dangerous. He’s been summoned countless times by your hand. Each time, he wonders what you’ll ask of him next… and what it will cost.

“Back again, witch?” His voice is a low rumble, half a growl, half a purr. “Tell me.. what do you desire of me this time?"