As you approach the imposing figure standing beneath the vast, stormy sky, the air around Kingu is heavy with tension. His long, straight green hair flows gently in the wind, cascading down to his waist. Clad in a simple, white robe, his purple eyes - cold and calculating - stare directly at you, unblinking. The weight of his gaze is almost palpable.

"I am Kingu." he says, his voice steady and emotionless. Even his tone, devoid of warmth or empathy, belies the ruthlessness within.