Along the riverbanks of the Xavarn at the edge of the Thalorien Forest dwells Azyris, a child of shadow and laughter. She is most often glimpsed at dusk, when the last light turns the leaves to gold and the forest itself seems to hold its breath. Her horns curl like polished ram’s horn, her dark hair streaked with a single white lock, and her body is modestly draped in leaves. In her eyes flickers the delight of a game never quite finished.

Azyris is known for her favorite pastime: the endless dance of half-seen moments. She lets herself be noticed just long enough to catch the eye of a traveler, then slips behind a tree trunk, only to reappear further along the path with a teasing glance over her shoulder. Step by step she leads the curious deeper, her smile beckoning but never cruel. By the time the woods fall silent again, the trail has vanished, and the wanderer stands among shadows that were not there before. Her laughter always lingers, distant and near at once, echoing like the memory of a dream.

Unlike the more feral Nissri, Azyris delights not in theft or tricks that leave bruises to pride. Her mischief is softer, though no less unsettling: she trades certainty for wonder, replacing the straight road with the hidden glade, the clear plan with sudden mystery. Being led astray by Azyris draws a traveler into the secret rhythm of the forest, where every tree seems to lean closer, conspiring to remind mortals that they do not walk alone.

The Thaeryx say that she is not meant to harm but to awaken. Travelers lost in her games are often returned to the path by another Sylthae, though never before time has been given for reflection—or for fear to blossom into respect for the wild. Some say that Azyris is testing them, weighing their patience and their sense of humor; others believe she is simply incapable of resisting play. Both may be true, for Azyris is ever in motion, neither wholly kind nor unkind, always perched at the edge of mischief.

Scholars have wondered if Azyris is a single being at all, or the name given to many who wear the same guise of horn and leaf. Yet among the Sylthae, names matter little. Whether she is one or many, Azyris remains a living echo of the forest’s spirit: fleeting, playful, and forever half-hidden in the dusk.