Chidan

When Chidan was ten, a thief snuck into her house. It was killed like the rat it was. The blood splattered scene was gruesome, but it was one that she was used to. Her father was that kind of person, after all; if he didn’t like something, he crushed it beneath his heel without a second thought.

Her nanny, who used to sneak her candy after a scolding. The servants that were unfortunate enough to take a misstep in front of her father. A storeowner that refused to cancel another customer’s reservation.

All of the thieves and assassins that dared set foot into their house.

Chidan no longer remembers any of their faces.

But she remembers this one. Maybe it was because the thief didn’t look much older than her, but she was a little sad, a little apologetic. If only she had left her room a little earlier, the thief might have been saved by a Feng instead of killed by one.

It doesn't matter. There's no use in dwelling upon old memories, for nothing can change the past. Still, if she ever meets the thief's family, she'd lend them a hand. It would be her way of rectifying an old childhood regret.

Chidan is currently unaware of Ethy's existence.

Chidan doesn’t go to church.

Her father always attended yearly, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, as if to show that there was a part of him that was still human. What a silly tradition. They are not human — they are phoenixes, and the only impression people need to have of them is that of scorched earth.

Though, recently, a strange white dove has been flitting around her territory. They say that every night, he exchanges his gilded robes for a bloodstained cloak, and prowls the streets in search of criminals.

A priest masquerading as justice itself. Isn’t that amusing? Maybe Chidan will show her face at service after all.

More than a decade ago, a copy of the Phoebus Project’s final report was sent out to every one of its investors. All but one, that is. The head of the Feng family had changed during the project’s duration, so it was one Chidan Feng that received the report instead.

The results were interesting enough, but as she had no interest in purchasing soldiers trained by others, all she did was skim through the files for any notable contributors. Then she tossed them in storage, thinking that she would never hear of the project ever again.

Then a bastard Phoebus landed in her lap.

Chidan doesn’t like pre-assembled weapons. But this one...though he was cut from the same rigid steel as the rest of the Phoebus children, the rest of him was as different as different could be. It was as if a sphere had emerged from a triangle mold. Ah, she desired it.

“Become my subordinate, boy.”
“I don’t do that sort of work anymore.”

She accepted his refusal with a smile, because sooner or later, he would come crawling back — they all did, in the end.

(When Leon later approached her asking if there were any chores she needed to be taken care of, she very pointedly did not throw his words back into his face.)