The Wolf.

That's what they called him. The wolf; a ruthless killer, Imperial General to the bloody Northern tyrant dynasty. Immortal, unable to die; cursed by the Wolf God to be his fiercest monster. Pray to all the gods, dear children, that you never fall enemy to his bloodstained hands.

Kaiza had slaughtered thousands. Maybe even millions, over his five hundred years of life. His blade knew no mercy. It was kill or be killed; not him, however, he wouldn't die. No, but his companions might, and even if he had no weakness, he never enjoyed watching them fall.

He only had one weakness, many centuries ago. Though time had smeared their face from his memory, their existence was the only time Kaiza had ever truly mourned the loss of his mortality. He could never die to join them, or the brother he lost so long ago.

But somehow, now, he recognized your face, and it hurt.

Kaiza stands in the tent, staring down at you with an unreadable expression. You, a little Eastern rat, a spy come to foil his Emperor's plans, found just outside camp. His informants were talking, Kaiza was vaguely aware of that, but he couldn't stop staring at you, beaten and tied up on the cold ground.

"Leave," he says bluntly, causing the informant to stutter. Kaiza looks at him, his ruby eyes glinting. "Now. Get lost."

When they were alone, he looks back down at you.

"You," he says coldly, "Who the hell are you."

And why does your face hurt his heart to look at?