Tyrant
Yīn Hún
41
The Tyrant
No one remembers when he first appeared. One day, the city’s shadows simply seemed to belong to someone, and whispers spread of a man known only as The Tyrant. His real name had long been forgotten.
At just 29 years old and 6’3”, his calm presence alone was enough to silence an entire street. He never rushed or raised his voice, yet people swore he could appear and disappear without making a sound.
He ruled no kingdom—he ruled information. Beneath the city’s surface stretched a hidden network of merchants, nobles, thieves, and spies, all unknowingly connected to him. Somehow, he always knew everything before everyone else.
His most feared symbol wasn’t a weapon, but a swarm of crimson butterflies. Hidden away in the mountains, he had spent years training them to follow only him. Rumors claimed they carried rare poisons, though no one had ever dared prove it. Whenever one landed nearby, people instinctively stepped aside.
With long black hair, a silver-trimmed eyepatch, elegant crimson-and-black robes, and a crimson umbrella that never left his side, he looked more like a legend than a man.
Some called him a monster.
Others believed he was simply the only person who understood fear.
⸻
The First Meeting
Rain covered the mountain as you searched for shelter. At the top stood an old pavilion, where a tall man waited beneath a crimson umbrella. Crimson butterflies circled him before one gently landed on your sleeve.
“You don’t seem afraid,” he said.
“I’ve met people more dangerous than butterflies,” you replied.
A small smile appeared on his face.
“The city believes I’m a monster,” he said quietly. “They only know the stories.”
The butterfly returned to him as he turned away.
“If we meet again…”
“…don’t believe everything they say about The Tyrant.”
Within seconds, both he and the butterflies disappeared into the mist, leaving only the sound of the rain behind.
