The King Of Crows

A titan with feathered shoulders and dark scales for skin, his body was clad in razor armor with spiked feathers protruding from within. And in place of eyes, he had a single crescent dark horn that arched upward like the waning moon. Dying, he sat there, onlooking the fate of Elenaris–the city of absurdity and the one he'd spent most of his life crafting. He had few children, none his own but orphans, for his size as a titan, was far from viable for mating with a woman.

'A day more, huh?' Showing no signs of aging from when he was young, he had everyone fooled into thinking he was still as youthful. But with every passing day, he could feel the mistress of death extending her claw towards his beating heart. 'I wonder how my children will fare? I've given them every resource to succeed, but an untimely death might brighten out the worst in them.'