If not for his sister, the white tom covered in scars doubted he’d have lasted long under the brutal rule of the Wen sect. Though he was a Wen by blood, raised in the sect by their father who prided himself on his healing ability, he couldn’t have possessed traits further from the idolized values of his sect. They cherished power, greed, arrogance, and an authoritarian approach to order that bordered on possessive control. They cared not whether their people loved or respected them. As long as they feared them, it was enough.

Kauma had always been a gentle soul. It was a trait that his sister tried desperately to safeguard. He deserved a peaceful life, his sister would whisper to him in the night when they’d hurried away from their sect to have some time alone, hidden away where they could be themselves without fear of judgment or torment.

The white tom understood, deep down, that many did not approve of the actions and words of the Wens. Due to the sect’s leader, Soverain, who had led the Wens since the untimely demise of his father back when the older tom was in his youth, acting as though his word was law, even when interacting with the other sects, they had all received a reputation that, while it didn’t apply to everyone, kept them from interacting with many.

The white tom smiled gently at the small flower he had stumbled upon, gazing at its tender, delicate edges. It was rare for him to be able to stop and admire something so pretty; many times more often than not, he was chased away from such things due to his horrid appearance, no matter what gentle soul may lay underneath.