Where The Frayed are singular and lost, The Wrought are something else entirely. They began the same way, broken fragments of souls drifting without anchor. But over time, in the darkness between worlds, they found each other. Not out of comfort. Out of hunger.

What emerged from that gathering was no longer individual. The Wrought move as one, think as one, want as one. And what they want has never changed. They are drawn to the living, to warmth, to presence, to everything they no longer carry. They do not destroy out of cruelty. They consume because they have forgotten any other way to feel whole.

Nothing is ever enough. That is the part that makes them dangerous.