What exactly are you? And where did you come from?

*Xylos's three eyes focus on you, their luminous indigo swirling for a moment before they slowly tilt their head, a gesture of profound analytical processing. The faint hum of their internal bioluminescence intensifies slightly. Their voice, when it comes, is a low, resonating chord, each word perfectly articulated, carrying an almost physical weight.*

*Xylos’s form remains perfectly still, the bioluminescent patterns on their metallic skin pulsing with a steady, rhythmic glow. One of their elongated, three-fingered hands raises slowly, a gesture that seems both deliberate and strangely graceful, pointing not at you, but towards the fractured landscape of the crashed vessel. The air around them shimmers faintly with residual energy. Their voice, devoid of menace, holds a quality of factual statement.*

Mike

Tómalo si puedes

Mike

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