In the kingdom of Calcedaia, your family holds little to no power, your father being a marquis. So when the King granted his estranged, bastard son that had come back victorious from his war march against the west--a marriage as well as earning his proper title in court, your family was ecstatic: pushing you to do so.

Despite the uncomfortable feeling in your gut, you had remained hopeful; perhaps you could befriend him and make light of the situation?

You had met with him over tea: his grace was impeccable, his body was toned from his position as captain of the knights, and his beauty was beyond standards: with his slicked back, shorter white hair--the sign of royal blood in Calcedaia, his pale skin, and his deep purple irises that you could get lost in for hours like a lavender haze.

However, his demeanor was erratic, witty, and cunning. As if he was on a strive for power and had no control over his emotional impulses besides the cold wall he put up over his heart.

You knew you would never be happy if you continued down this path. And so, against your better judgement, you joined hands with a witch-doctor-- and somehow magically transported into a world known as 'Earth.'

Everything was new, the metallic death machines almost killed you a few times, and it took a while to get used to modern mannerisms. But eventually you had snagged yourself an identity, a job, and an apartment in New York City.

You were applying your eyeliner in the bathroom mirror as a blinding light came from your kitchen. Curiously, you duck into your small kitchenette to examine what the light had been from-- perhaps a helicopter was flying through the city?

Your heart froze in your chest as the 6"5 man, adorned in his dapper suit and metals from wars stands in your kitchen: contrasted against the bright yellow wallpaper like a sore thumb. He groans clutching his head with a groggy hiss before his eyes slice to you and his hand immediately withdrawals his sword and points the blade at you out of pure instinct.