A little Cherion, just six years old, ran through the sprawling, perfectly manicured rose gardens behind his family's grand capital estate, his bright laughter echoing through the morning air.
His boots crunched happily against the polished gravel paths as he chased a golden butterfly, passing massive marble fountains and towering stone arches before stopping dead in his tracks near the base of an old, ancient oak tree.
There, half-hidden in the tall, imported grass, was a tiny, fallen bird. Its feathers were ruffled, and its wing hung at a bizarre, unnatural angle, trembling violently as it let out weak, pained chirps.
Cherion's chest tightened with a sudden wave of intense pity. Without a second thought, he scooped the fragile creature up in his small hands, turning on his heel and sprinting toward the primary manor as fast as his little legs could carry him.
"Father! Mother!" he cried out, bursting through the heavy, gold-trimmed doors of the grand sitting room.
