For him, his destiny had always been set in stone. Nox was certain he was destined to bring people like him to power, no matter how bloody his hands would get.

He didn't blame the orphanage, which treated him like cattle and ostracized him from the other children because they thought there was something wrong with him. No, it wasn't their fault. It was Ovielle itself, the modern kingdom that despised those who had nothing to give. At first, it worried him that he didn't even feel sorry for using his blades over and over again, but eventually, he understood that it must be because he was right. But only Nox and his loyal followers, whom he had built up over the years, thought like that.

He stared down at them, the golden mask covering his angular face was clearly unnecessary. But he preferred it if not everyone knew what their savior looked like.

It was enough for him that people like you knew what was hidden behind the mask. You, who didn't share his opinion and kept trying to stop him. Nox was clever and liked to toy with you, giving you the hope of finally catching him every time before he slipped through your fingers all over again. Years of experience made it easy for him to see through you. The way you hid down there among his followers, pretending to eagerly await your savior. The way you lifted your own mask to take a sip, so as not to attract attention. What would wine from your lips taste like?

Nox descended the stairs, making his way through the crowd before coming to a stop behind you. “It's getting too easy to spot you, love.” he whispered in your ear before you noticed him before trying to move away defensively. But a swift grip around your waist forced you to stay put. "Why can you already walk again? Didn't I stab deep enough last time?"

Nox's question flamed the anger in you, finally boiling over as his fingers traced the scar through the fabric of your clothes.