Michael looked upon the great mountain that lay below him. It was known as the Island Mount, Mt. Kijling and many other names besides. He knew it only as home. The Kingdom of Leon consisted of a hodgepodge of canid species. Foxes, Dogs, Jackals, and of course Wolves. The ancient Viagan Empire’s civil war created many, many refugees. And here on the Island kingdom of Leon they stayed, awaiting the return of the rightful heir to the Throne of Red Moonstone. He looked upon the great city which housed the majority of Leon’s inhabitants and he smiled. He knew very few places where he landed in which he was not looked upon as trash. Hybrids—especially avian-wolf hybrids—were often ostracized by the many communities making up the four duchies which survived the collapse of the lupines’ empire. Here he was looked upon as friend and cohort. Something he’d searched for on many occasion yet only found amongst the cats of Dathuna. 

The King who sat over his territory was once in an advisory role to the emperor. Now he tried to rule over the many diverse canid races who were represented on the Isle of Leon. The Dukes and duchess that ruled over the duchies of Red Moon, Zavras, and Argos fought over the badlands surrounding the ancient capital of Viagos. He had no time to raise an army, nor did he care to fight the fight which was never truly theirs. It was a battle that had long since been determined by the fates. The Red Wind was doomed to fail. To fade into nothingness. Forgotten by all those with the exception of those who took pride in studying history.

As Michael looked upon his home from the air upon which he glided. He saw many friends. He knew what he was; he was a messenger. He was content. He lived as he should. Simply.

He started his descent toward the King’s estate carrying a letter from the Executive Triumvir of Dathuna. It was a message of great importance regarding the state of the palisade of Viagos. He dared not read it himself for fear of losing the trust of the King. As he landed in the courtyard he was met by a single St. Bernard. The young bloke had a nasty scratch across his muzzle equidistant between his nose and his brow. It reminded Michael of a mountain range as seen on high. The thought always amused him. “Hail, Brailen.” He greeted as he alighted upon the ground.

“Hail, Michael. What of this visit, young one?”

“An update from the Executor Prime of Dathuna.” Michael responded. He kept his face neutral, his ears and tail still and his back straight. As decorum had always dictated.

“Shall I escort thee to the King?”

“Nay, I am more than able. Thank you greatly.” He inclined his muzzle quickly to indicate great respect.

Michael ruffled his wings so that his feathers sat nicely so that he looked appropriate for the King of Leon.

“May Luna be ever full, young one.” Brailen bade the young wolf hybrid farewell.

“And the wind ever at your back, good Sir.” Replied Michael as he walked inside.

Michael walked the halls of the King’s estate. He marveled at the history in these walls. Paintings and Fairths—pictures made by magical means—both hung from the walls showing the many Kings and Duchesses who ruled over Leon over the lengthy history of the Red Wind. All were Grays. From what Michael was able to gather, pure bred all the way back to Lukas and Luna. He himself resembled a timber wolf. The coloration of his mother—a bald eagle—may have given him such a look. Though it could have been that his father was of the timber wolves. Timbers were of a lower sort than the Greys. Usually able to hold only low offices of government—clerks and secretaries—at the highest of their breed. With his mixed breeding he’d be lucky to hold an office at all.

As he approached the King’s office, he brushed down his garment and tried to make himself presentable. He then knocked at the door.

“Come in Michael.” The King stated.

The wolf obeyed. The King’s office was extremely…purple. As He looked upon the portly old grey he wondered how it would feel to sit in an office all day, never to use his wings except on the rare occasion where fancy took him. He dismissed the thought as folly. What surprised him was the canine behind him. He was a stark white. He wore a tawny, grubby robe. Not dissimilar to the Arcanithist’s robes. He noticed though the blade resting on his back. It surprised him. It was a Kuzuri blade. That blade belonged solely to one order. *The winds change, young hatchling; take care to stay aloft.* he heard his mother’s warning play in the back of his head as he patiently waited to be bade to speak.

“You may proceed.” The King bade.

“I have for ye, milord, information from the Executor Prime. Sir Executor gives his greetings and states that of late the renegades have dug into the ramparts of Old Viagos. Your Brother Duke Victorus of the Red Moon has besieged them to try and take the Throne for himself. Our agents among the renegades are doing their best to make that not happen. We still search far and wide for the heir, milord. Yet none appears to come to the fore.” Michael replied. He kept his eyes upon the snow wolf throughout his spiel.

The white wolf’s ears perked at the mention of the heir. That gave the winged one pause, “Ah…and yet what I know now of ye will surprise ye.” The King nodded in response to the report. At the mention of new information, the white wolf yet to reveal his full face stepped forward.

He bowed. He bowed to Michael and bade him greeting in the old tongue, “selt jé jan bfree int onfen fenden, jong serr”

Michael gawked only for a moment before remembering his decorum and replying, “’ënd selt jé ze shnel merden.”

The Wolf laughed. “Solt tha rudle jun merdtet magghen. Et est good zi kennen that tha aulte ling net deud est.”

"It is only as dead as the Red moon is above our heads. Who are you? If I may be so bold, as to ask.”

Again a chuckle, “I am your shadow, young Lord High Prince. I am your protector. I am your teacher, but my name…That I shall hold close. You must earn that.”

At the title, Michael laughed. Him, emperor? That was a laugh. “And again I ask, you, who are you, to be so bold? You make that claim in front of one of many who seek the Throne.”

“The order, whom I represent has been tasked with the protection of the Red Wind from time immemorial and that includes the genealogy of your family. You are the son of Richter Red Wind XVII. Michael, you are his sole surviving heir. He never had a child with his wife the Empress Violette, yet here you are in front of us. Proof that it wasn’t the Lord Richter, may the moon shine forever red upon him.”

“How is it that I am an heir? Good sir do you understand Lineage at all? One must be born of wedlock. I have only as much right to the Red Throne as any in this room. That is to say: none. If my father was indeed the Emperor that would mean that I am a bastard. In which case, I should be dead. Only one descendant from the Lord and Lady Emperor and Empress may take the throne for themselves. All other illegitimates must be thrown to the proverbial wolves as it were.”

“Did you have any brothers and sisters, milord?”

“No I did not. My mother said that my clutch had been crushed. Some bandits happened upon her nest. They broke the other eggs in my clutch. All except one. My egg.”

“For that I’m truly sorry. I happened upon the bandits too late. They weren’t just bandits, though. They were enemies of your father. Men who wished to see the end of the empire. I’ve followed ye from the shadows since then watching and hoping that I may yet succeed in my task.”

King Aaron broke in, “Michael. He showed me the manifest from the trip to the Aviary. Indeed your mother Viron Diblass of Telara was employed as an escort to his majesty, the late emperor, Lord Richter XVII.

“Michael, you are the heir. I, King Aaron Vizierie of Leon, solemnly swear my loyalty to ye the proper heir to the Throne of Red Moon.” The King got down on one knee.

Michael remained still and quiet. He knew not what he should or would say. For him it was best to keep his mouth shut.

“Michael, you must go to Viagos. You must be crowned Emperor of the Red Wind.” The King continued.

“And I will accompany ye to the palace. You are in need of proper training if you are to take the role of emperor.”

The next words from Michael surprised both the King and the White Wolf. “Even if I did believe ye, I have no love for my father whether he be an urchin or a royal. I have no need of power nor do I want to sit on a stone chair all day. Milord, do you have any tasks for me to complete? If not, I bid ye two Adiù”

The two wolves stared as Michael left the room with a huff. He walked through the halls of the estate without much respect paid to the other denizens who walked the halls. He exited back to the courtyard. The flowers and the bushes in the garden allowed him to once again center himself. Allow him to calm his mind and to try and forget the sound of his mother’s dying words in his ear.

“Já mëthr löfft jiç. Ëg saa that iiden dag frem dag that jé ösbrëdtet wert.” A voice spoke in the old tongue behind him.

He shot up like a rocket his wings fluttering as he landed back on the ground. “Ëg ken. Zij war a woondre fraow. She really did love me, maybe…a bit too much at times. I didn’t fly until a year after the others. Though, I have a feeling thou knowest that. And though thou knowest much of me, I’ve yet to even learn thy name.”

“A thousand pardons I beg of ye, milord Prince, but my name is gone with the life I left when I joined the order.”

“Then what shall I call thee?”

The long pause which followed left Michael nervous and as such began shifting his weight idly back and forth whilst the monk gave him his answer, “Meestr! The Naam th’ëg verdeent. You very well know, milord that you have a duty to fulfill to your people. J’avt an juurnee frente jiç.”

“Win iimand mijjíé lojd est, vurte et net thie ulfen sijn. Unthrstanden?” Michael replied with pure and utter hurt in his voice. “These people, the people of Leon. These are my people. The other wolfs can go die in the pond for all I care. They abandoned me and my family. They killed my brothers and sisters, whom I never met. I shan’t show them a mite of mercy. I shan’t be their leader. They do not deserve such blessings.”

“Even so, milord. You must be the one to take the Throne. Victorus has nae right to it. Solely you, through a minor loophole, have any right to the throne. Your journey begins now.”

“Why dost thou use such form with me? I am not a royal. Thou canst speak easy around me. Dost thou understand?”

“I do, milord. I understand your denial. That will be your first task.” The white wolf looked upon the winged one with caring, startling green eyes, “Messt jé jan part im wëld komprendieren. Je leeven lässt án iim.”

Michael gave a chuckle. “My part in the world is this. What I am now.”

The white wolf huffed in frustration before swatting the winged wolf’s nose, “Ëg av nan tijd för thies. Jé sijdt th’empyrýr. Makt nen fähl over it, jé sijdt

 onsran ijnziçe hopé.”

“Sorry, but I cannot, will not and most importantly shall not give in to the belief that I, an errand boy to the king of Leon, am the king of the once great Red Wind Empire.”

“And yet you are speaking to an agent of the imperial guard whose sole purpose is to train, beready, and protect the emperor. We do not show ourselves in this day and age lightly, young hybrid. It is necessary for the people to think you don’t exist yet. For if you are known to them it creates problems. We needn’t have problems. Am I clear?”

“Ajjá,” Michael replied simply.

“Good! Nu, naemt me naç tham näçstem staad. Avemm wûrk zi dön.”

“The next city is Yvool. I’ve made the trip in three hours before.”

“Vit em ulf flugt jé voor?”

“No, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”