When Xion saw him, he was drenched in blood.
At just 150 years old, Xion had only a basic understanding of humans and their ways. The complexities of their lives, their politics, and their strange hierarchies were all foreign to him.
He had heard, vaguely, that there were rulers, people who acted like small gods in these lands, wielding power over others simply because of their birth.
But Xion had never bothered to learn more.
Myrthia, his mother, and even his reluctant guardian, Mr. Cat, had often scolded him for ignoring lessons about the human realm.
They insisted he needed to understand it if he was ever going to walk among mortals.
But such topics were stuffy. Boring even. And far too complicated for someone as curious and fluttery as he was.
In his eyes, rulers were like his mother. They were kind, gentle, and did things for the betterment of all.
