The Shriekwing — Herald of Hollow Skies
 
Wings split the dark,
fangs drink the scream.
Its cry is a blade,
its silence the grave.
 
The Shriekwing is no simple bat. Born from the eclipse’s shadow, it tore its way into being when the Codex demanded a voice too sharp for men to bear. Its scream does not echo — it devours. Stone cracks, blood curdles, and memory itself recoils at its cry.
 
It is said to swarm where bargains rot and oaths shatter. Its wings blot the moon, and its teeth drip with echoes stolen from throats that will never sing again. Where it feeds, silence follows, not of peace but of erasure. No prayer rises, no name lingers — only the hollow sky remains.
 
The Codex binds the Shriekwing as a herald. It comes before greater ruin, its cry announcing that the Codex has turned its gaze upon a place. And when its silence falls after, it is the silence of graves.