Credo's mind whirred, dreams passing by him in meaningless bushels, thoughts and memories swirling into a vast abyss, left to time and space. His fingers gripped what was in them instinctively, and he woke up to find they had gripped skin and bone.

His eyes fluttered open and he pushed himself away, shocked, letting out a dumb surprised gasp.

Out of instinct, he gripped his knife and withdrew it, pressing the silver blade up against the stranger's neck. His heart raced and he felt a twinge of pain, as the elbow he was supporting himself on was still aching from injury.

The stranger didn't react. His white pupils, framed by black sclera, only blinked. He glanced down at Credo's outstretched arm, holding the knife, and back at Credo's own eyes.

"Hello."

"Hello?" Credo repeated angrily, almost with disbelief, his eyes wide. "Who are you?"

The stranger simply pushed his arm away from his neck, as if his life wasn't just threatened. He sat up on his knees over Credo, brushing the dirt off of his sleeve.

"I should ask who you are," he responded, "because I don't believe I've ever seen you before."

Credo studied him closer while he searched for a comeback. The stranger had white feathers, but he didn't look distinctly bird-like in the least. A line of feathers separated his wide eyes, and long locks of white and brown down-like feathers fluffed up on his head, weighing to one side. He wore a blue turtleneck one piece, and if only he could get off of Credo, he could've gotten a look at his boots.

And so that's what he did. He grabbed his waist and pushed the stranger off of him, feeling very cramped in the little shelter, pine needles falling into his face from all of the ruckus.

"Come outside. I'd like to talk to you." He shook the dust and dirt out of his sleeves again and crawled out of the entrance. Credo glanced at his boots. They were brown with designs on the sides and sole.

He lay in the shelter, still shaken by such a rough awakening. He listened to the tapping foot on the hard dirt outside and wished that whoever that was would just go away. Though, he did thank the stars that if he were to meet anybody out here, he'd rather meet a stranger with no knowledge of personal space as opposed to a murderous marauder.

"I said come out." The stranger growled, shaking the leaf roof. Pine needles collected in the fold of his clothes but he still laid there, propped up on his elbows, wary of the person outside. He decided it was better to keep silent.

The air was tense. He was testing whoever that was's patience. He gulped, staring up at the leaf ceiling.

"I said come out!" The tarp was torn away, and Credo decided he'd had enough. His injuries still stung but he pulled himself out of the entrance, standing up, and facing the end of an arrow.

The stranger stood there, now with a billowing lavender cape in addition to the sky blue turtleneck. His bare white legs matched the white wooden bow that held an arrow directly at his throat.

"What's all this?" Credo asked, his voice breaking in uncomfortable light laughter.

"My name is Vivian. These are my lands. Why are you here?" He moved the bow and arrow, daring him to say something funny.

"Vivian." Credo repeated, glancing around, unable to meet his determined gaze. "Nice to meet you."

"Your name?" Vivian pushed.

"Credo," he responded, "but it shouldn't matter."

"It matters to me!" Vivian suddenly had a childish tone to his voice, almost like a whine. Credo looked at him, surprised in this stranger.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the arrow was lowered from his direction and put back in a basket along with others. He also realized that he could've used his fire at any time he wanted, just like he'd done in other situations in the past. But somehow, something this time had made it so the mere thought hadn't even crossed his mind initially.

"Anyways," Vivian continued, "nice to meet you too, Credo." He glanced at the ground, tapping it with his boot. "I've never met people from the outside." Credo was taken back by this.

"Outside?" Credo tipped his head, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't left this forest since I was very young," Vivian confessed, seeming a little embarrassed. "I was raised here and it's been my home forever. I know almost every bit by memory."

"And why's that?" Credo had a little more time to study this stranger. He was shorter than him, maybe just by a bit, and had wide, innocent eyes. The coloration he sported and the resemblance he exhibited was gnawing a question into the back of Credo's head.

"I'm wanted," Vivian said, "by the king."

There it was. That's what he was seeing in him. The face shape, the coloration... the species.

All marks of the ruling Tyto family. The Tyto family which was responsible for the murders of Chicanes far and wide.

He realized he was in the presence of one of the most brutal enemies of the Chicanes. A Tyto was a Tyto, no matter who, what, when, where, or why. A Tyto was a Tyto.

"Why... by the king?" Credo asked, his voice faltering. He'd never been in the presence of a real royal Tyto before. They never came around the places he lurked. No, they were too good for all of that. Yet, one stood in front of him, starry-eyed and oblivious.

"You want to know the story?" Vivian chirped, tipping his head. "It's a long one, but long story short, my father was told his firstborn son would kill him. And so that was supposed to be my fate."

"And yet, here I am," he continued, "alive. That's because my mother hid me away! She left me with her parents and We have been living, secluded from the world and my father's knowledge."

Credo took a good look at him. This was the prince of Koukouvagia, standing in front of him. The prince that hadn't flinched when faced with death, that sat on top of Credo with no thought of personal space, that ripped the tarp off of his shelter and too, threatened Credo with the same fate he had threatened to bring upon him. The was the prince, clade in a warm turtleneck bodysuit, lavender cape, and decorated brown boots. The son of the bringer of suffering to him and his species.

He pondered the story he was told. If he really was the son of King Tyto...

"So you're the prince?" Credo asked, fixing his cape coat.

"Mhm." Vivian responded. "My father cannot know of my existence." He suddenly gazed at Credo with sparkling eyes, eyebrows bent in worry. "But you won't tell, right? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Of course not," Credo cut him off quickly, trying to soothe his worries, "I have no reason to." He felt a twinge of guilt at the relief in Vivian's eyes.

In reality, Credo was Credo. Old habits die hard. And for this one, he realized the worth of this stranger, and planned to use it to his advantage.

If he could just lure him out of the woods and have him stay in some place, he could eventually have him captured and turned in to the king. He would be rewarded handsomely for bringing his fabled son in, and Credo would make off with the money to fund his own military to overthrow the king.

Yet, he could only dream. All he ever did was dream. And without dreaming, where would he have gotten? He decided he had nothing left to lose and fixed Vivian with a sinister stare, shrouded in some sort of sly friendliness. His plan would shake the continent, the kingdom, and the very souls of the dreaded Tytos that ever dared to cross his race again.